Pretty When You Cry
by underling909
Summary: Extreme AU. The FBI need to persuade Jane to work for them. Lisbon doesn't help... That's not going to stop them though.
1. Mid August (Austin) – Trick and Lisby

Welcome to my first FF story! I've been promising this one for a while but have finally decided to pubish and be damned. This is extreme AU but whereever possible I use characters from the show, but in different roles eg. !evil Reede Smith, !avuncular Virgil Minelli, !superheroine Madeleine Hightower (hang on, this sounds just like the show...). It's still an FBI story, but everything is a little different. Jane and Lisbon are younger for this tale (Jane 28, Lisbon 30) - that's just how I needed it to be in my head. Red John etc. still happened - but a lot quicker, and Jane had/lost his family a lot younger, obviously. My Jane, although he hopefully displays some of the Jane adorableness that we know and love, is less cocky, less confident... hell, less _mature_. I'd just binge-watched _The Guardian_ when I started this story and I'm imagining Nick Fallin's quiet, low-key personality and beautiful, sulky face when Jane starts to suffer! And he does suffer here.. a lot. Jane Pain all the way - I don't know why but I love it so. My Lisbon is weaker here than I perhaps wanted her to be, but she does get very ill and I don't blame her for a thing! There will be non con later on, hence the M rating, but I will warn. I think I've given away too much (and probably confused the hell out of everyone...). Just a couple of shout outs - to the wonderful Thornton and Louise Kurylo who have encouraged me to get on here and do it! A special mention to Louise Kurylo for inspiring my only major non-show based character, Kim's father, Don Fischer (not at all a nice person here either, I'm afraid...) and for giving me the idea that kicked this whole story off. It's going to be a multi-chapter and I can't wait to hear what you all think!

And finally - Michael Sheen and David Tennant are going to star as Crowley and Aziraphale in _Good Omens!_ I know, right?!

MID AUGUST – Austin – Trick and Lisby

She had already told him she was going back home. That she had a life now in Lafayette. That she was neither his plaything _nor_ his term of employment for the FBI. The fizz of excitement and utter joy she had experienced on seeing him again after two endless years had been supplanted by that familiar uneasy sensation akin to being blindfolded and spun around that he seemed to engender in her. He was already playing his games again – conning and running rings round them all – well not her, not any more.

He was utterly contrite (again) and full of promises of how it would all be different. "I came back for you, Lisby – only for you!" he swore. She had to keep running to Sam in her head to try to stay immune from _his_ magic…

The night before her flight he'd invited her to dinner. He would, he vowed, be going to Abbott on the morrow to tell him to 'shove his job up his FBI ass' and that without her, he, Trick, would happily go to prison after all, it was only what he deserved…. ( _Emotional blackmail, much?)_ but could they please have a 'final' dinner together? God help her, she had said yes, just like she always did.

 _Pete and Sam's tiny girl, Juniper, had baptised them Lisby and Trick, trying to say their names on a long ago visit, when Pete had swung Jane into the air as though he was no bigger than his daughter, and Sam and Juniper had taken Lisbon to see Daisy, the elephant. Trick, muttered Lisbon to Sam, was the most appropriate name for Jane she had ever heard. And he had called her Lisby, from then on, whenever she let him._

Dinner, at a Caribbean restaurant that Trick had managed to 'discover' in only a few days of freedom, had been huge fun. He was at his most entertaining, and the meal had somehow ended up in a drunken, spontaneous poker game involving kitchen and waiting staff, as well as the head chef himself. Having merrily fleeced them all, Trick kept back only half the price of his and Lisby's (very expensive) dinner and engaged in a little redistribution of wealth in returning the staff's money. His charm was such that not even the head chef appeared put out, pressing a bottle of his finest Jamaica rum onto them as they finally headed out into the muggy Austin night.

Trick insisted (of course) on walking her back to her hotel and they passed the rum happily between them as they strolled. It was First Thursday on South Congress (another Trick discovery which she wondered if any of the Austin FBI agents she had met had even heard of), and the lively street scene made her feel as though they were on holiday in Trick's beloved Venezuela. They stopped to listen to music, joined in impromptu dancing, Trick chatted up vendors and bought her a vividly coloured scarf, shot through with her favourite emerald green, which he wrapped around her neck, cheekily brushing her lips as he did so. Fifteen minutes away from her hotel the heavens opened and they were instantly soaked to the skin by warm, but incredibly heavy, rain. Trick pulled her into a doorway, wrapped his arms around her and brought his face close to hers, kissing her lightly on the lips. Raindrops trembling precariously on his ridiculously long eyelashes, his curls flattened damply to his head, his light blue shirt sticking closely to him and almost transparent with the rain; she had never seen anything more erotic.

"My beautiful, beautiful, Lisby." Gazing, entranced, into her eyes, he clearly felt the same way… _She should have stopped him then – she should have stopped him….._ "Come on." He grabbed her hand and they were running through the downpour and she had never felt so alive.

It was getting light when her gently vibrating phone awoke Lisbon. Automatically she grabbed it and put it to her ear. "Hey, Reese, this is your 5am alarm call, as promised. Don't want you missing your flight back home to the man who's going crazy without you."

Lisbon scrambled out of bed, snatching at a towel to cover herself as though Sam could see her _and Trick_.

"Did you turn in extra early?" Bosco was asking. "You didn't answer any of my texts." She looked down at her phone, seeing the text alerts, realising that Sam's existence had literally been erased from her head for the past 8 hours by that blond devil, lying sprawled on her bed, still dead to the world (a rare sight for him), with lips slightly parted and hair dried back to a golden halo - looking more like an angel.

"Sam", she breathed, wriggling quickly into jeans, t-shirt and sneakers and slipping quietly out of the room, "I _did_.. I.. I just wanted to be fresh for today and…"

"Well I spoke to Abbott yesterday-" _her heart stopped –_ "and he said you've been invaluable on this case, that you figured out some outrageous fingerprinting scam to identify a perp-" _and started again – Abbott had kept his promise not to breathe a word about the Jane factor, instead making her summons to Texas appear to hang on a recommendation from Cho… –_ "-and that he'd hire you in a heartbeat" He paused. "But I know how much you love our life here…" He paused again – waiting for her to confirm. Relieved ( _somehow_ ) she jumped into the space.

"I can't wait to be back, honey."

Once she had reassured Bosco, and received in return his order than she would not be seeing herself home as he would be picking her up from the airport she found herself walking aimlessly along the same streets that she and _Trick_.. Jane.. had explored last night, before they had… _before she had utterly betrayed the man who had been there for her when NO-ONE else was… least of all Patrick Jane._

In the grey dawn light the streets, still displaying their bright, tawdry garlands, looked shabby and tired, and Lisbon turned a dispassionate inner eye onto the dilemma in which she now found herself. Last night they had gotten to her room door and Trick still hadn't said… hadn't _asked.._ she had opened the door and he had caught her hands and looked deep into her eyes…. " _Lisby…."_

And _she_ had pulled _him_ into the room and then… they had simply fallen upon each other, she… had wanted, _needed_ every part of him to be a part of her… his eyes… had looked into her soul… he had cried… _she_ had cried.. he had whispered words of love, endearments… she had given herself to him utterly and taken all of him in return…. She remembered now… as she was finally drifting off in his embrace he had whispered "Stay with me…." _and she had murmured "Always….."_

But this morning, the streets were faded and the man who _had_ stayed with her was waiting for her to come home. Whereas the man who had run away from her so many times before… well, less than 48 hours into their reunion, yep… he had of course run away yet _again_ , from the FBI _and_ her, making Lisbon ( _the Jane whisperer_ ) look like an fool in front of everyone, then he had strolled back like the little _bastard_ that he was.. and you know what, he _would_ run away, again and again, and she _couldn't…._

It was colder this morning in the wake of the thunderstorm, and Lisbon shivered in her lightweight t-shirt and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Sam Bosco loved her and she _trusted_ him. She felt safe, and protected in his love – it was pitiful, she supposed wryly, but she had _never_ felt safe and protected before – not even in her childhood. Trick.. couldn't protect himself, never mind her. _"I couldn't protect my own family…."_

Oh, Trick, Trick! Lisbon huddled in a doorway and rubbed her fists savagely into her eyes. She loved him, God, she loved him, she loved him, she would never love another soul the way she loved that beautiful, damaged man but she _couldn't….._

No more. No more hurting people. Not herself. _Not Sam._ She owed Bosco her sanity, maybe even her life. She'd begun to dare to wonder about children… She and Sam would be good parents together… Trick and Lisby, well … maybe there _was_ such a thing as too much love… too much pain… too _much_...

She walked slowly back to the hotel, barely able to see through her brimming eyes.

Jane, still in bed but at least awake now, greeted her with a beaming smile but his face fell instantly when he caught her distress. "Could you… could you get dressed… Trick… we really need to talk."

 _Was he going to lose her again? Well not if he could help it._ "Of course – sorry for still…" Suddenly shy and awkward Jane immediately hopped out of bed and dodged into the bathroom. He closed his eyes under the shower, tilting his head back in bliss and went over his game plan. Not that it was a _game_ plan of course, this was… just the rest of his life.. he was not going to screw this up!

Finally, after all the years of fear created by Red John, he felt able to show the love he had felt for Lisby from well… in some ways from that very first day when she had rescued him from Hannigan. And then all the times she had rescued him since.. from bad guys, bad women, , their bosses, himself…. She was so _tiny,_ so unutterably beautiful, and so, so strong. And her soul… her spirit just… sang out to him.

(For while Patrick Jane had no truck with spirits in the afterlife, or indeed an afterlife at all, the mentalism he credited to honed skills alone was in reality sharpened to its prenatural level by the enormous amount of empathy he unknowingly possessed - he most definitely resonated with spirits in _this_ life.)

Last night had been joyful, cathartic, he had _lost_ himself in her and to her. His wedding ring had stayed on, but its significance had changed forever – he felt at peace now with his memories of Angela and Charlotte. But he _ached_ for Lisbon. He smiled to himself as the water cascaded over his face – humans were undoubtedly peculiar – always had to strive for _something._

All she wanted was for him to be honest and open with her, and, while there was still the small matter of the FBI threatening to throw him in jail for murder ( _not_ that the kind of jail he would end up in would keep him for long), now was the time to fight his strong inclination to hide what he knew – no pretence – he _had_ to be honest. He would bare his soul to her.

Wrapped in a towel, he emerged briefly from the bathroom, grabbed his clothes and disappeared again. On his re-appearance, Lisbon, clutching a much-needed coffee, presented him with a cup of tea and invited him to sit. Perched around the tiny breakfast table the hotel provided she felt incredibly uncomfortable, not helped by Jane waggling his eyebrows at her as he sipped his tea.

She took a deep breath. "Tri- Jane…. " Jane's face fell at her use of his more 'formal' name. "Last night was…." She hesitated, irresolute. He resisted trying to fill the pause… waited. "No, I'm not going to say that last night was a mistake ( _how could something like THAT ever be a mistake_ ) but… for me it was… it was _wrong._ "

Jane nodded carefully. He had to let her tell him first. She soldiered on. "Jane, I'm not… there's… there's someone else now….." Biting his lip, he nodded again. There was a beat. Lisbon stared at him. "You knew," she said flatly. It was not a question. "Of course you bloody knew. Why wouldn't you know?" Her anger was rising now. "Tell, me, Jane, what else do you know?"

Jane hung his head. "I'm pretty sure it's Sam Bosco…" he muttered, then dared to look up at her with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Misplaced, as she greeted his look with a furious slap. He put his hand up to his cheek and gazed at her, hurt.

Lisbon pushed him away as he leaned forward to try and comfort her. He tried to speak but she was shouting now. "You _knew_! You probably knew from the first time you saw me, right? No… you'd probably had it all figured out back on your island. But that would mean you would have had to think about me, which you clearly didn't as you didn't send me so much as a FUCKING TEXT!"

"But I did! What about all my-" started Jane.

Lisbon was far from finished. Her voice was quieter now, but the words were venomous. "Not only did you _know_ , with your bloody bloody _supernatural_ bloody powers, but you then decided it was ok to _pretend_ you were all innocent again and… what? Just _claim_ back what you think is yours? _Knowing_ \- you were making _me_ \- into a cheat!" She punctuated her last words with angry shoves to his chest with the heels of her hands. They were both off the chairs now and he ended up stumbling backwards onto their rumpled bed. She stood over him, panting from the force of her anger. "Well, Jane? Was that the big plan? Nice two year vacation, no doubt sleeping with all those lovely island girls, waltz back home and just help yourself to poor old, lovestruck, Lisbon. Because you're good at _helping yourself_ to things, aren't you? That's what you do! Doesn't matter that I nearly fell apart after you left. Doesn't matter that I had no-one, _no-one_ until Sam came along. The only man who GIVES a shit, but no... Patrick Jane is _back,_ so you'll just step in and…" She paused for a second, Jane frantically regrouping, but she was off again. "You _never_ liked Bosco. Always made him feel like an idiot, he told me."

"Not a stretch.." muttered Jane's mouth, before his brain could kick in. "NO! I'm sorry Lis-" But she'd hit him again.

"How the _hell_ did you know it was Bosco?" She asked suddenly, still breathing hard.

Jane tried to pull her to sit next to him on the bed, but she yanked her arm away. He was desperate to neutralise her anger. "Because… ( _who else would it be?_ )… I knew his wife had left him not long before…. I left and that he was just waiting -" He could see from Lisbon's face that this was coming out all wrong.

"What, just waiting to pick up your leftovers because his wife had dumped him?" she spat out. "Your arrogance is _mind-blowing_!"

"That's not what I meant!" Jane tried unsuccessfully to grab her hand again. "I _didn't_ know anything on the island… When I _saw_ you I knew because… I just…. _know_ you. I could tell by how you were that you were with someone and that you were struggling to hide it from me but you felt you had to for the moment because everything was just so... new and all… and I _guessed_ that it was Bosco because…. because of what he told me before and because of how he was with you… I didn't want to say anything - not to _lie_ to you…. again…. but because I felt I had to leave that to you!" Lisbon tried to interrupt, but he kept going. "and then last night was just… I knew you were leaving and it didn't look as though you were going to say anything so I… I… wanted to show you the truth of how I feel! Lisby, I love-"

"Hang on." She grabbed the arm that was reaching for her. "What did you mean when you said 'because of what he told me before'? What are you talking about?"

This was not going at all the way Jane had hoped. He tried to take her hand again (she put his arm firmly down). He _had_ to be transparent with her but there was an element of floodgates opening here, this was all going to fall apart. He sighed. "When I had to work with Bosco's team I kind of… teased him about… his feelings for you-"

"You are _such_ a-"

"-because _he_ was telling _me_ to stay away from you.. because even though we weren't… everyone thought we _were_ … except Cho…." he trailed off. Lisbon gaped at him. " _What_ did he tell you, Jane? You had _no right_ to say anything to him – it was none of your business!"

"I knew he'd hurt you before – your affair – he was married, Lisby! And then he was back and after you again and _still_ married! How was that going to end up?"

This was too much. Lisbon began pacing back and forth across the room. "So you accused him of-"

"No! I didn't say anything to _him_ , I'm just saying that's why I -"

"Just because you wear that goddamn ring on your finger like some badge of honour you think that gives you the right to pass moral judgments on stuff you know _nothing_ about! What about the rest of _your_ life, Jane? Face it, you're so caught up in your own dishonesty you have no idea how to act around decent people!"

Jane looked like she'd slapped him again. "I… I… Well, that's what _he_ said as well….. He said that I should stay the hell away from you because… I was a lowlife carnie grifter and how dare I presume to… 'even try to interact with decent people'….." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Do you _really_ think that of me, Lisbon?"

Lisbon felt her anger begin to dissipate, but she couldn't let this go. "I don't know anymore Jane… I just…. _No_ Jane, not what _he_ said, of course not…" she felt shattered suddenly, and she had to start getting herself together or she'd miss her flight… "But Jane, you've got to understand… I have to take care of _myself_ now and Sam Bosco _is_ a good man -"

"You're right you know," interrupted Jane. "I don't like him. I may be a lot of things but… I would never try to control you or lie to you like he does -"

" _Hah!_ What do you call refusing to do work for the FBI unless I'm on your freaking team then – Jane _come on!_ Stop this now! _He_ does not lie! And he _does not_ try to control me." She started to hurl her stuff into a bag.

Jane was getting scared. She was _leaving._ "Lisby he _does_ , I -"

" _No! Enough!_ Jane, I am getting on my plane back to Lafayette on my own and I am not coming back! I'm with Sam now, and I'm sorry you can't be happy for me but I guess I understand that at least…" Weary now – "You have to make a life for _yourself_ Jane… Patrick. Sure.. work for the FBI for a few years, then get your pass and learn to live again. The whole…. Red John episode of your life is finished now. You're still only a young guy…"

Jane had his face in his hands. He looked up and tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I only came back for you, Lisby. I wrote you letters every day.."

" _Jane_! There _were_ no letters!" She was crying too. "No letters Jane! No phone calls, no nothing! Not a word from you in two years! There was only Sam Bosco! Who loves me and takes care of me, damnit Jane! I can't do this with you I just _can't!_ "

He tried to put his arms around her "I'm so sorry – I love you so, so much, Lisby! _Please_ give me a chance _please_ , you mean everything in the world to me-"

Still sobbing, she shoved him, hard, so he stumbled over his feet again. "Just go, Jane! Please… if you care for me at _all_ just get out now. I need you gone! _Please_!"

He swiped his hands over his eyes, tried to control his shaky breathing, grabbed his socks ( _her_ socks, that she'd given him) and shoes, opened his mouth to say something, then simply raised his hand in farewell to her and slipped out of the door, with no other plan now than to run, and not to stop running until he disappeared.

Cho, who had promised Lisbon a ride to the airport, was surprised to meet Dennis Abbott in the hotel lobby, pointing out that Jane was surely in detention, when the wily senior agent explained to him why he was there.

"I 'forgot' to lock him up last night, assuming that he'd have another go at convincing Lisbon to stay… Hopefully it's worked out, otherwise I see all sorts of trouble ahead," mused Abbott.

Cho still wasn't getting it. "But this is _Lisbon's_ hotel," he explained patiently.

"Really?" Abbott rolled his eyes at his colleague. "You really don't know about those two?"

"Lisbon's with Bosco…"

"Oh come on, Cho, path of true love and all that! I just hope they got somewhere…" he finished thoughtfully.

His hopes were almost immediately dashed with the appearance of a barefoot, dishevelled and utterly distraught Jane in the lobby. He caught sight of the agents and tried to run. Cho's brain did not even need to engage, he instinctively tacked the runner to the ground and Abbott had handcuffs on him seconds later. He looked him up and down sadly. "Didn't go well then?"

Cho, who had hauled him upright, spun Jane around to face him. "Is Lisbon ok?" he snapped.

Jane, captured, slumped in Cho's grasp. "She's been better.." he said softly.

Cho slammed Jane against the wall. " _What have you done!"_

Abbott had worked things out, and put his hand on Cho's shoulder. "Easy, Kimball, I have a feeling they've… well…" he looked at Jane, "… I'd say _broken up_ but you never really had a chance to get together did you?" Now he touched Jane's shoulder. "I am sorry," he said.

Cho, still not quite believing Abbott's interpretation of the Jane-Lisbon relationship, released Jane by throwing him against the wall again. "All yours," he snapped at Abbott and stalked off to find Lisbon. Abbot unlocked the cuffs only to cuff himself to Jane. "I've heard you can get out of those," by way of explanation. He waited while Jane managed to put on his precious socks and dropped shoes and then steered him out of the hotel towards the waiting SUV – glad he'd had the foresight to bring a driver.

Headed back to incarceration, Jane tried one last time. "Please let me go, Abbott. I promise I'll disappear – you'll never hear from me again. I don't want to work in law enforcement at all – if you keep me you'll have to send me to jail – think of all the hassle and the bad press…"

Abbott looked sympathetically at the younger man but his words gave no hope. "Jane, I'm genuinely sorry that you didn't manage to work things out with Teresa but you _will_ still have to work for us. Your… recapture was instigated and financed higher up the food chain than me – I'm just the guy who figured out how to get you. I have no desire whatsoever to say no to these guys. And the more stubborn you are, the worse your deal is likely to be, and the less choice you'll have in what happens to you, bear that in mind."

Jane simply looked sorrowfully at him, leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Abbott, feeling a migraine starting, gazed silently out of the window as they headed back to the detention centre, with no idea how prophetic his warning would turn out to be.

Cho discovered a red-eyed but resigned Lisbon, bags all packed, finally putting a brush through her hair. "Are you ok?" he asked.

"Fine, thanks Cho," she sighed. "Just... tired."

It wasn't until they were 20 minutes away from the airport that Cho broke the silence. "I saw Jane in the lobby. What happened with you guys?"

Lisbon opened her eyes to glance at him in surprise. Cho _never_ enquired about personal stuff – it was a quality she greatly appreciated in him. He must be pretty worried to do so now.

"Oh… you know… he wanted me to stay... I wanted to go… we both got upset…"

"Ok." Realising he wasn't going to get the full story out of her. "Well, Abbott's taken him back to detention – I guess we'll have to see how it goes."

Lisbon felt a pang and realised she'd hoped that Jane would have managed, somehow, to run again. Hopefully he would before long – his was not a soul that could live in a cage.

"Cho… I think it's best that, just for the moment, can you… just keep me out of the loop about Jane? If he asks for me again or anything. I just need…. to work on my own life for now."

In Lafayette, Bosco greeted her rapturously, and if he noticed she was so devastated as to be virtually in mourning, he kept it to himself.


	2. Mid Late August (Austin) - Fischers

Back with a second instalment! I probably have about two thirds of this thing written, and we've barely _started_ yet, but it is so fun to post it little by little and hear what people think! I can see now why fanfiction writing must be so addicting…. I may yet change things based on what people say although I do have the full direction and conclusion of this tale largely fleshed out. Thank you to those lovely people who have reviewed – I don't mind that its not many so far so long as they are thoughtful – which they are! _LouiseKurylo_ , that means a such lot, coming from you and I may yet have to PM you about the instalment coming up after this one, as your work is so much an inspiration for it.

 _FiascoWay_ – thank you so much for your review and yes, you are quite right and I do feel a little uncomfortable about my portrayal of Lisbon throughout this this story but it has to be! I guess she is a little OOC but she is younger, remember, and has already gone through a hell of a lot. For me, 'cheating' is not the be-all and end-all it seems to be for so many – it very much depends on the circumstances all round. My Lisbon _had_ invested in Jane – had allowed herself to feel something more intense than she'd ever felt before – was just starting to give herself away (risking everything, of course…) – when, to all intents and purposes, he just walked out of her life. And stayed out. And she needed help, and got together with Bosco to do what she needed to do to get well again. And then Jane comes back and the bastard still has this effect on her… and yes she 'cheats' on Bosco in basically a 'fugue' state and yes, I am letting her off the hook a bit but come on, this is _Jane,_ who has made her so crazy for so long…. Then she wakes up with the realisation of what she has done to Bosco pretty much completely because of her love for Jane and her guilt is making her pin that on poor 'Trick'! Do you see where I'm coming from? Or have I only made things worse….? I should probably have PM'd you, if I'm honest….

Anyway – on with the show! There follows an idea about Jane which I haven't found yet in _Mentalist_ fanfic but which sprung from the character of Don Fischer, the creation of one _LouiseKurylo_ – without whom… etc... The rest of the story kind of hinges on it too…

MID-LATE AUGUST – Austin – Abbott and Fischers

The week that followed Lisbon's departure, and the prompt return of Jane to the detention suite had been one of increasingly ill-tempered encounters between Jane, Fischer and Abbott. Aware that his grand vision of FBI/Jane collaboration was rapidly turning sour, Abbott had taken the unilateral decision to offer Jane everything else on his list, but without Lisbon, Jane was still refusing to come on board at all, insisting that they should just go ahead and put him in jail. Not an unkind, or unperceptive man, Dennis Abbott knew that he must be hurting; Lisbon had obviously (and, if Abbott was honest with himself, sensibly) chosen Bosco, and without her on board Jane was lashing out at him, Kim Fischer and the FBI in general. A tentative phone call to Lisbon had found her equally upset and unco-operative; she wanted to get on with her life with Sam, she insisted, and she was not interested in any inducements the FBI might wish to offer her. So by the time Fischer, who had been put in charge of Jane's detention, asked for a meeting Abbott was nearing the end of his rope.

"Sir.." she began diffidently. "You know my father… Donald Fischer".

"Yes, yes." Abbott was impatient. It was no secret that Fischer's dad, a very, very senior figure in the FBI, who currently was Special Agent in Charge of the key Minneapolis field office, was rumoured to have the Director's ear. Dennis sincerely hoped Fischer wasn't about to pull some nepotism stunt, although to be fair to her, she never had before, and had more than proved herself as an excellent agent in her own right.

"Well, you know one of my Dad's.. um.. _specialisms_ is interrogation? He's got years of experience and has been very successful?"

Abbott frowned. He had indeed heard this. There was no doubt that Fischer senior had a… formidable reputation. "Kim, we're not _interrogating_ Jane – we just need to get him to co-operate!"

Fischer soldiered on. "Yes, but what my Dad's good at _is_ a kind of persuasion, in a way. He gets people to do what he wants them to! I was just going to ask you if you were ok with my seeking his advice on how we could maybe handle Jane going forward – I'd have to show him the files, so…."

Abbott regarded her for a moment, then gave a gusty sigh. "Kim – I'll be honest, I'm not thrilled about that idea, BUT… it's the best one either of us have had for a while and I'm all out. I'm going to be crazy busy for the next few weeks and I just don't know what else I can offer. Your father has the clearance – you may show him Jane's file and see what he has to say. If he has useful suggestions, by all means implement them so long as they are cost effective and _legal_. I doubt we have more than a few weeks left before I'll have to turn Jane over to the prosecution service so you'll need to work fast."

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

Don Fischer was delighted to have his independent daughter phone to seek his advice and her terse summary of the Jane situation intrigued him. He made his mind up characteristically quickly. "Send me over the files, give me a couple of days to read through them, I'll fly over on Tuesday and we can thrash this out over dinner. In the meantime, from what you're telling me, there's plenty you can do to start preparing the ground, as it were. I know the Houston detention centre – Walt McGraw still in charge? I'll have a word with him. Should have done this right from the start – it's no wonder you're not getting anywhere. This man is a murderer for Chrissakes! Kid gloves not needed!"

The following night, just as he was settling down for sleep, Jane was unceremoniously removed from his relatively comfortable cell and deposited in much more spartan accommodation in the bowels of the building. His armchair, reading matter and tea making equipment, as well as Ralph, the friendly guard who had kept him company, and snuck treats to him, were left behind. This cell was air-conditioned to a low temperature, windowless, and contained a narrow cot with one thin sheet, a sink, and a toilet. A metal bar running the length of the cell, had been fitted a few inches below the low ceiling. His shoes, socks, jacket and shirt were removed, and not gently, when he particularly protested about the socks, and he couldn't help shivering in the chilly cell. Truly scared now, he struggled desperately as, one guard having attached a short chain to the manacle at the centre of the metal bar, the other two cuffed his hands tightly together, dragged him over to the bar, kicked the back of his legs so he fell onto his knees, and attached the cuffs to the short chain, adjusting it so that he was pulled taut from his knees with no more give. His ankles were crossed over and also cuffed: he could not stand, sit, lie or rest, only kneel at full stretch,.

On her father's instructions Kim Fischer had given the orders (Don having assured her that this sort of treatment was perfectly legit, used in Guantanamo Bay on a regular basis, and ideal from the point of view that it would cause no lasting physical harm to the prisoner). Nevertheless she had to school her reaction as she walked into the cell – it all looked pretty brutal and Jane's terrified expression made her heart clench. She reeled off her prepared speech, the guards hitting Jane in the stomach whenever he tried to interrupt (twice was all it took to quiet him): "You need to sign, Jane, agree to work for us like you promised then all of this can stop. We hold all the power here. This can and will get a lot worse, I promise you, until you sign and agree to work for us like you promised, and we can keep going with this until we send you to Federal prison." She nodded to the guards and as Jane was opening his mouth to protest again a bucket of freezing water was poured over him as she turned on her heels and left the cell, followed by the guards. Alone, Jane shivered violently as the fluorescent lights set into the walls and ceilings were turned up to a blinding brightness and started flashing continuously on and off. At the same time a hissing, scraping, but unbelievably loud noise started pouring into his cell, from what he now saw were speakers set flush in the walls.

Every four or so hours a couple of guards went in, unchained him, shoved him towards the toilet (and watched, smirking, if he went) and offered him water. He was then immediately chained back up. On their first visit they answered his questions and pleas by cuffing him savagely to the floor, and hit him again for good measure when he was re-attached to the bar, causing his body to swing painfully from the chain as his footing was knocked from under him; he remained silent for all subsequent visits. He was left on the bar for 24 hours – the lights and noise unrelenting. Finally, he was released, the guards simply unchaining him as usual, uncuffing him and then removing the chain from the bar and walking out. The cell suddenly fell into blissful, silent darkness and Jane, having fallen to the floor on his release crawled painfully to the cot and huddled wretchedly under the thin sheet, still shivering. The cold water treatment had only happened once, but the conditions in the cell ensured he would be unable to get warm. His pants were still damp and he had no clothing for his top half. Nevertheless, after nearly 40 hours since he'd been able to sleep he all but passed out as soon as his body hit the cot.

Four hours later, he was harshly awoken by a slap across the face and a whisper of "Wake up, sleeping beauty!" in his ear. To his confusion and misery he was already chained back to the bar. " _Please.._ " he murmured, his eyes darting around to anticipate the expected blow. Instead he saw Kim Fischer standing in front of him. Fischer noted with satisfaction, that, as her father had predicted, his irritating air of cocky insouciance had vanished. The sleep (and food) deprivation and cold had slowed both his thoughts and his metabolism, and he shivered constantly, and blinked owlishly at her as she re-ran her routine of how much better things would be for him if he only were to co-operate with the FBI, and how much worse they would be if he did not. He scrabbled unsteadily in an attempt to rise to his feet and failing, swung gently on the short chain as he tried to move his aching knees into a more comfortable position. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, still clearly fearful of another blow. "I'm not a terrorist or… I… you don't need to do this…"

"Are you ready to sign? Ready to work for us?" interrupted Kim, unable to take her eyes off the pitiful young man. He looked almost Christ-like, his position hanging wretchedly from his chains making his ribs stand out, the bruising from the blows he'd received from the guards now blooming on his stomach and cheekbone. _Or maybe an angel_ she reflected – the earlier soaking having caused his hair to dry in a halo of golden curls. To her massive disappointment however, Jane was not crushed yet. "I'm ready to sign…" he'd whispered pathetically, and she'd stepped forward eagerly, nodding to the guards, who'd moved in and released him from his chains, carrying him surprisingly gently over to his cot. "But…. " finally continued the prisoner, carefully pulling himself to sitting on his cot, " _not_ ready to work for you…" A sleepy, smile, which managed to look simultaneously inebriated and quite enchanting, spread across his face and he spoke calmly, if painfully slowly. "You should know by now, I'm not some tough guy. I'll sign anything… to make this stop…. But I'll work for you when hell freezes over, Kim Fischer!" He laughed softly at Kim's furious expression and was still laughing as he was angrily shoved off his cot onto the floor and roughly reattached to the dreaded bar. "Bring it on, Kim Fischer, bring it on!" he called out to her as she whirled angrily out of the cell. His taunts were abruptly cut off by a sharp gasp as another bucket of freezing water was upended over him, and he shut his eyes and shook his head in vain to shut out the sudden onslaught of sound and light as the torment began again.

Mid-way through the second planned 24-hour period of induced sleep deprivation Jane was on bruised knees, hanging from his chains with his arms at full stretch, head lolling to the side. Somehow in the last hour or two he had managed to slip into an altered state of consciousness of not-quite-sleep, and the guards made the mistake of simply letting him fall to the ground when his shackles were opened for his four-hourly "comfort" break. His head bounced off the uncovered concrete floor and he was instantly unconscious. Kim Fischer was called, and had an uneasy few hours along with the (Don Fischer-appointed) medic, waiting for Jane to regain consciousness. Once he had been given the all-clear, she returned him to his cell, but the chain had been removed and he was given water and left to shiver on his cot, now with a splitting headache to accompany his other discomforts. Still unbowed he had weakly protested his treatment to both the medic and Kim: did they know the Geneva Convention ruled sleep deprivation as a form of torture, and he was pretty sure the FBI's behaviour didn't meet the 'UN Standard Minimum Rules' – which precluded the degrading and inhumane treatment of prisoners.

Don Fischer was delayed for a couple of days, but strongly advised Kim to resume the sleep deprivation in the meantime. "I need him nice and suggestible, for what I've got planned for him… Don't _worry_ Kim – you think I don't know what I'm doing here? I've done this a million times before – this doesn't _hurt_ them. The amount of time we're doing it for there won't be any lasting effects – we can't afford any – we want him to work for us, don't we?"

"Maybe pass on the order that the guards are to stop hitting him and being so rough then.." snapped Kim. _Dear old dad didn't have to witness Jane, who somehow looked so, so young now… almost seem to fade away before her eyes – flinching away at any contact, yet still managing to come out with his defiant backchat whenever she tried to talk to him._ "Ah, my soft-hearted little Kimmy" her father had laughed and promised he would order the guards not to 'mark' Jane further. _Soft-hearted!_ Kim's mouth tasted bitter. This better get results, that was all, because what they were doing felt like breaking a butterfly on a wheel.

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That night she finally met up with her revered father at an exclusive restaurant in downtown Austin. He insisted on enjoying their meal before discussing the matter at hand, and then, to a surge of irritation in Kim, he lit a cigar and leant back in his seat – his expression one of familiar condescension. "There's good news and bad news," he said. "Well… no bad news really, from your point of view…. I'm gonna take him to Minnesota – but you can benefit too – this can make your career. The good news, I'm 99.9% sure we can break him – get him on board - in one night – an hour or so." He smiled thinly at his daughter.

Kim looked blankly at him – Fischer senior sighed, patiently. "His files made fascinating reading, and I did a little more digging of my own. I'm quite disappointed you didn't pick up on it – well, maybe not you but _Abbott_ certainly should have. The case you had him on – spelt it out!" Kim sighed back at him. "Come on, Dad, I really have no idea what you're talking about. All I know from the case we did is that he ran rings around us all and made me look like a prize idiot."

Don took pity on her. "He's a gypsy, Kim! He's 'carnie folk' - that's common knowledge I gather – but they're all traveller/gypsy blood and he's as much of a dirty little gyppo as that Miss Defiance he obviously bonded so well with, if your people had only caught on. Obviously a ferociously clever little gyppo, but don't let the charming ways, golden curls and big blues fool you. My god, you've all read his file as well, haven't you – it's all over it! Don't even bother with his file – just look at his 'terms!' (he made air quotes). He wants his woman, a couch and an Airstream! He's a bloody gypsy, Kim - they don't like houses.. or beds… Take a look at the Red John case. That level of rage and vengeance that he sustained for _years,_ young as he was – pure Romani – Red John had killed his women, simple as that. No gypsy worth his salt would go unavenged, no matter how long it took. The _way_ he killed him.. he had access to a gun but didn't use it... Strangulation – that's a gypsy kill. Con man, sneaky, no respect for authority of any kind… I could go on…."

"Oh!" Kim was completely taken by surprise. "But how -" she began.. If anything, Fischer senior looked even more like the cat who ate the cream. "We had to deal with them in Kosovo so I know my way around gypsies. Surprisingly easy to break, _when_ you know how." He paused to take a swallow of his whiskey. "If he was anyone else, you could get what you wanted just by doing what we're doing now, and then threatening his precious woman, who, as I'm sure you've realised, is now Miss Teresa Lisbon. And - leave that to me - that'll be part of our ongoing leverage. But he's so bloody clever I think he'd work around that, _if_ his spirit was intact…" He thought for a moment. "I think it's better to leave the details to me, Kim. You don't need to know any more." He paused, waiting.

Kim was still floundering. "He won't be… Are you sure he'll be ok after…"

"You really do have a soft spot for him don't you?" Her father looked searchingly at her. "He comes across as an arrogant little shit in his file; doubt he has much time for you, huh? I grant you, he is a very good looking boy indeed and charismatic with it, it would seem, but I'm guessing he only has eyes for this Lisbon woman, hmmn?"

Kim's nonchalant shrug, meant to convey both her disinterest in Jane and who he had eyes for, spectacularly failed to do either. "But she's gone," she said finally. "Teresa Lisbon left him, that's what's caused all the trouble – I think she lives with another guy… I mean, I don't even think they were ever actually _together_ … not that I've heard…"

"Still _his_ woman as far as Jane's concerned." Don leaned forward – took Kim's hand. "This is what you've got to understand – they're a different kind of people. Even if she left him, and he sleeps with a million other women, he will burn for her until one of them is dead… No, come to think of it, look at his wife – not even death will stop him. Nothing else will matter to him and _that's_ what we'll use going forward." Don eased off. "One more night. I'll take care of everything – and your Jane'll be a beaten dog afterwards. Then I'll have a little chat with him – that's the only thing that'll be on record of course…"

He leaned forward - "Don't worry – I won't hurt him, but this _will_ finish him off, I assure you. He'll still have to keep his woman from harm… he'll be at our beck and call – yours too, my dear. I'll put together a team for you – you can be his 'handler' – a good reason to finally transfer to me and I'll bring Reede Smith in as well (you know him?) – nice little promotion for him and he can keep Jane _honest_. We'll put the little grifter to work and you will wipe the floor with every other team!"

Kim had listened intently, and was careful now to try to cover her reactions. She knew Jane had nothing but contempt for her after Venezuela and, if she was honest with herself, she also knew that there was no way _she_ could ever control him as he was now. He was just too different – she didn't _get_ him and had envied his relationship with Lisbon and Cho even as she had angrily tried, and failed, to put him in his place. But she _was_ guiltily drawn to him, like a moth to a flame… knew she desired him… She had, however, made herself aware of Teresa Lisbon's stellar record with Jane in the CBI, and the thought of what emulating _that_ would do to her career excited her more than any physical attraction could do. She had approached Don for help for this very reason - that he had years of successful experience in interrogations. Who was she to argue with his expertise? If he said she didn't need to know… a tiny involuntary shudder went through her. She knew her father was ruthless, uncompromising and had seen and no doubt done things she really didn't want to think about. But she was convinced he was ultimately a good man – she could trust him… And she would have Jane's brilliance tied to _her_ team (no Abbott to gum up the works!), and with her father's protection. Shame about bloody Reede Smith though.

Schooling her expression, she nodded slowly at Don. "Ok. I'm happy for you to go ahead, and thank you, Dad. Let me know what I need to do to help." A problem struck her - "What about Abbott, though? He was, mainly, responsible for getting Jane back from Venezuela – he's still expecting himas his reward. If you snatch him from under his nose…?"

Fischer senior waved his hand dismissively. "I'm about to succeed where Dennis has clearly failed. And I can go over his head anyway. But I'll talk to Abbott – point out that your boy ran away from you first chance he got didn't he? Without my-" he smirked "- _techniques_ , and bespoke team to keep him obedient he'll do it again before long. See how he likes the cold in Minnesota as well, gyppo scum."

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It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, my friends! Please do review - I love hearing what you like _and_ what you don't like – so long as it is thoughtful! Remember, this is my first fanfic and some of you guys are masters of the genre – I can only learn….


	3. LATE AUGUST (Austin) - Don Fischer

**So lovely to get reviews! This is all brand new to me… The general impression I'm getting from you after my last instalment is what the hell does Don Fischer/FBI think they're up to? So, remember this is extreme AU… Don Fischer is evil incarnate hiding in plain sight. Like Red John/Blake he too has his network of people. But being so high up in the FBI it's even easier for him to wield his control. There's no way what is taking place/will take place in the detention centre has been sanctioned by the likes of Abbott – this is all very much below the radar – because Fischer _has people everywhere_ …. Crucially, Fischer _absolutely believes_ what he has told Kim about Jane – that he is a gypsy – and to Fischer's mind that makes him something less than human… and fair game. Fischer's doing what he's doing for the simple, selfish reasons of getting his daughter (and himself, incidentally) some good old mentalist closed case reflected glory. Oh, and he's also a bit of a sociopath and a sadist…

For his part, remember this Jane is much younger than canon. In case you're wondering how this works in my addled little brain, here's a mini timeline I did when I first started this story – Charlotte is born when Jane is 17 (early fatherhood = recognised response to chaotic childhood, actually inspired by SB's comparatively early start!), he's 21 for the Red John killings, into age 22 comes his breakdown. At 23 he joins the CBI (in particular the team lead by youthful wunderkind, Teresa Lisbon!). It takes them only 3 years to get Red John and by age 26 Jane's on the run (South America etc). My story begins two years later when he comes back for Lisby, who's now 30 (I've often felt she should be just a little older than Jane…). So Jane is only 28 and, like Lisbon, is not anywhere like as formidable a force as the older, canon version. While I'm on the subject, my Cho is 34 (so pretty much the age he starts off at in canon I think) and Rigsby and Van Pelt, when they appear (which is not for a looong time - sorry!) are around Jane's age.

 _WARNING - PLEASE READ the following before you start this chapter!_ You've probably figured out by now, this story is, in the main, Jane Pain (see what I did there?), and this next episode contains a really difficult section - arguably M-rated. I've toned it right down from what I originally wrote because I think it works better this way but it is still _non-con_ most definitely. Also language! For anyone who wants to skip, I will summarise how the plot has moved forward at the beginning of my next instalment. And I promise you all, I would never, _never_ deny my suffering hero his happy ending.

So here we go…. **

LATE AUGUST – Austin – Fischer senior and Jane

In the end, it took Don Fischer less than a week to organise the seizure of Patrick Jane. Helped along by Abbott and Cho's absence from the office on a major case he moved quickly. He vetted the staff at the detention centre who would be on duty on the designated night, replacing most with his own people. He briefed his team back in Minneapolis, and liaised with the Supervisory Special Agent of his smaller St Paul resident agency, as he planned to base Kim's new team here. The carrot of a promotion to second-in-command onto what promised to be a very successful team meant that Reede Smith was only too happy to fulfil the role assigned to him, although, having had the misfortune to cross paths with Jane before, he would have gladly done it for free ( _and those pretty looks didn't do any harm either_ ).

 _Dies ipse_ arrived, and Fischer installed himself comfortably in the room where he was due to talk to Jane in 30 minutes' time. He'd ordered a spy sound hook-up to Smith's location for no other reason than his own pleasure. To become as successful at a job as Fischer had been, it was essential to enjoy it. He would have had a camera feed as well had it not proved impractical to set up in the time they had. Kim Fischer had taken a couple of days leave – needed, as she had packing to do.

Jane, cold, exhausted and extremely hungry but at least having been given a shirt to cover himself, and on a blessed reprieve from the relentless torture of sleep deprivation, was just drifting off into blissful unconsciousness when the door of his cell was flung open and he was hauled up and dragged out.

Reede Smith had decided that the subjugation of Jane would be even more pleasurable with two. With Fischer's permission, he had co-opted a buddy of his (and another old enemy of Jane's), Steve Hannigan. Hannigan was hanging on by his fingernails in SAC PD in California and would not make an FBI agent in a million years, but, Fischer had ruminated (once he had thoroughly researched Hannigan), he could turn out to be a very useful blunt instrument when it came to keeping Jane in line. Their door opened and Jane was shoved inside, falling straight to the floor. He got up carefully, and beheld a grinning Reede Smith and a scowling Steve Hannigan. "Well, well," said Jane "if it isn't Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

Indeed, Hannigan could have been Smith's older brother – both of them large, overweight, slobbish men with almost identical receding brown hair. In both, the extra pounds concealed heavily muscled bodies – people they hit rarely got up again. "Hello, Blondie" smiled Smith. "Steve here has so been looking forward to getting to know you again. As have I." Silent, Hannigan hitched his pants and glowered at Jane. The young man's eyes darted from one to the other. The room stank of alcohol - there were several opened beer bottles and a half-full ashtray on the table. _What the hell was this? Was he was going to get the crap beaten out of him – they'd put him in the hospital for sure – but what good would that do?_ He turned his palms up and said simply "What do you want?" Smith's smile turned feral. "You, sweet thing." Then Hannigan finally spoke "This time, it's not your nose that'll be bleeding, you little carnie shit." In his armchair down the corridor, Fischer leaned back and closed his eyes in anticipation.

No doubt the sleep deprivation, lack of food and rough treatment had dulled his responses as tonight, Jane was slow. He was still trying to process what they were saying, and what he was seeing, when they were upon him. His shirt was ripped apart, buttons flew. Meaty, heavy hands were all over him, hitting, pinching, rubbing, caressing. A huge face pushed into his – mouth forced open, hands gripping his head, holding his jaw open, while alien fingers and tongue pushed in, more hands yanked his pants down and roamed over his lower body, squeezing and exploring. He yelled out in fear, and struggled desperately but they simply hit him again and again until what little strength he had left was gone.

Fischer took a long sip of whiskey. And listened.

"Oooh – so peachy! Look at this little ass – this is going to be tight, and hot, and _gooood!"_

There was a crash. Gyppo being thrown onto the table no doubt. He heard-

"Nnno!" _growled_ through gyppo's teeth. "Gttt off!" They were hitting him some more – _better_ not be his face or Smith would pay…

Smith and Hannigan were unaware of their audience, who noted with satisfaction Smith's furious order to "Stay fucking _still_ you little gypsy bastard!" Fischer lit a cigarette. Making them work for it then. By some miracle.

But inevitably, seconds later, he heard Jane begin to scream.. and.. when he could speak again….. beg, plead… Smith, mocking… _"You're so pretty when you cry, Baby Jane!"_ Hannigan's turn… Jane was shrieking again… rhythmic sounds of flesh against flesh… Hannigan _roaring_ … Jane didn't have a much of a voice, Fischer noted idly, it was already cracking and fading. To his satisfaction, Smith and Hannigan seemed to work well together. Smith was undoubtedly the boss, needing to rein Hannigan in on occasion (Fischer had given him clear instructions as to how far they were allowed to go), but Hannigan appeared to respect this relationship.

"Christ! The little cunt used his teeth!" Hannigan wanted to fuck his mouth it seemed, but Jane wasn't having it… "I'll bloody teach you to-" Then Smith's voice cut in - "Steve! Easy! Just…. get him down on his back then we can… yeah, that's it… there you go – get some of that… hang on… doesn't matter if we hit him _here_ … ( _a heavy punch, a groan from Jane_ ) _– Now_ get stuck in, Stevie-boy!"

They took closer to an hour, but Fischer was happy to wait.

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Smith knocked, before pushing the door open, propelling Jane in front of him. With an enquiring glance, he shoved him into the chair facing Fischer. Jane winced, groaned involuntarily and dropped his head. He had been given no time to recover, and was shaking like a leaf - trying clumsily to pull his ruined shirt around him. Fischer nodded Smith out. "Don't go far." But his look spoke of a job well done.

Don Fischer looked curiously at Patrick Jane – this was their first meeting. "Head up!" he snapped – Jane obeyed reflexively. _He was ju_ _st a fucking kid!_ For all the living he had done, Jane had only just turned 28, that angelic blond hair making him look even less…. He really was quite breath-taking to look at. Smith and Hannigan had left a couple of visible marks, he noted, but they had been relatively restrained. Those ( _extraordinary_ ) lips were bloody and bruised, and there was a painful-looking gash across his cheekbone. Fischer wondered idly whether the rest of his body had got off as lightly. From what he'd overheard, he doubted it.

He nodded to Jane. "What happened to your shirt?" Jane blinked at him and looked away, then swallowed and appeared to pull himself together. He indicated the door behind him. "He did." His voice cracked when he spoke, however. Fischer shot to his feet and stood over Jane, grabbing a handful of curls and pushing his face into the younger man's. "Well, you are a murdering little bastard who should be in fucking jail! They'll pass you around for dessert in there!" Flinging Jane's head back, he sat back down. The kid was clearly cowed and terrified – this was disappointingly easy – from reading the file he had expected more. But no matter, Fischer consolidated his attack. His voice was quiet and level now. "You fuck around with the FBI, demanding a fucking _Airstream,_ you little gyppo scum, and then, what, when your precious woman walks out on you, you think you can just throw your fucking toys out the pram?"

Jane, the blood humming in his ears, said nothing. All he wanted was to curl up in a ball and shut out the world but this stranger, infinitely more dangerous than Hannigan or Smith, he guessed, was not about to let that happen. Jane's mind started to whirr (it acted as a comfort mechanism as well as a means to an end). _This was, or had been a military man – he was steeped in it. Well-respected, very high-up, always in charge. Tall, large, but lean, late fifties, face like granite but something familiar.. something around the eyes or.. the way he moved his head… the bone structure.._

The boy was zoning out. Fischer was up again, backhanded him (but _carefully_ ) across the face, arm swung back for another- "You're Kim Fischer's father! " breathed Jane abruptly. Fischer stopped short, stared at him in shock. "How in the hell did you…?". He relaxed. "Ah, but this is what you do. Glad to see the voodoo still works under pressure."

"She gets her charm from you," shot back Jane, flinching back even as he spoke… anticipating another blow...

Instead Fischer leant forward and stroked Jane's hair trailing his hand across his cheek. The young man froze. "Did you _like_ what they did to you in there, gypsy boy? Because _they_ liked it a whole lot – I could tell. And whenever I give the word… they… or others… will be only too eager for a repeat performance. And more. Whatever and whenever I say. What you 've got to understand, son, is that there are no more CBI friends, no more Abbott, no more wheeling and dealing and lying and conning… You're mine now, body and soul. You're coming to work for me – and work you will."

Jane angrily jerked his head away from Fischer. " _Throw me to rot into your shittiest jail,"_ he hissed. " _Cut my tongue out, put me in a fucking dress if you want. I'll be dead within a week_. I'll take that _in a heartbeat_ before I work for you." Don Fischer felt a little chill of fear – behind that quiet voice, those blue-green eyes – this beguiling creature was indeed capable of murder – _had_ murdered. His experience in breaking scores of Kosovan prisoners reassured him however - he sensed that Smith and Hannigan had done their job well. This was a _gypsy_ after all, and although he didn't know it himself yet, he was already broken. All Fischer had to do was administer the _coup de grâce_.

So he laughed. Poured himself another drink. "You know who _else_ is mine? _Well_ … a surprisingly large amount of people _are_ although most of them don't even know it…. _She_ doesn't know it… " He waited.

Jane put his head in his hands.

"What a sharp little gyppo you are - you've made the connection! Now-," he leant forward and knocked Jane's hands away from his face. " _ **LOOK**_ _AT ME_!... -now tell me her name."

 _"Lisbon."_ Jane whispered.

Don Fischer spelt it out to him: Bosco had screwed up badly many years ago… five innocent people had lost their lives… Rookie cop Teresa Lisbon had been _there…._ Bosco had been protected… and still was.. but Fischer could tear their world apart with a phone call. Things could, of course, go wrong on a lower level… investigations could be compromised, intelligence could be faulty, armed backup could be missing – hell, there could be a loose balcony rail in that beautiful old Lafayette building that Lisbon was lucky enough to work in….

Jane, hunched over, arms wrapped around himself, reading Fischer, and _knowing_ that it was all true.

"So," Fischer concluded comfortably, "if you put one toe out of line, if you disobey, run away, lie/cheat/steal/con, if you even cut a lock off that pretty hair of yours without my express permission, or that of your team leader… _well_ … You should know that you will be lucky enough to be in a team led by my lovely daughter with one Reede Smith as 2iC… No doubt Reede will have his own ideas as to what methods to use to keep you in line, and I… I will be looking to Lafayette….. "

" _Don't you dare hurt her!"_ But Jane's fury was losing out to despair….

Fischer eyed him thoughtfully. "Have a drink.." he suggested, holding out a generous glass, Jane shook his head, no. " _SIT UP STRAIGHT!"_ screamed the larger man - Jane jerked upright. "And have a _drink_ ," he insisted. "Drink it _all!_ " as Jane shakily accepted the glass and swallowed the burning whisky. He had already thrown his guts up following Smith and Hannigan's abuse and now his stomach churned again and he swallowed convulsively as he desperately tried to stop the alcohol from coming straight back up.

"That's right.. keep it down.." Fischer took his glass and poured him another. "And another one. And tell me gyppo – are you mine?"

Jane cradled the glass, silently.

" _ARE YOU MINE?!"_

" _Yes."_ Stomach heaving, Jane swallowed whiskey along with pride.

"Are you now…?" murmured Fischer. "Take off your shirt."

 _Oh please not again._

Jane's gaze held utter desolation. Fischer looked steadily back, sipping at his drink. The young man awkwardly slid his wrecked shirt off. His chest, shoulders and stomach were mottled with an assortment of bruises.

"Now stand up."

Trembling violently, Jane managed to stand.

"Pants off. Naked. Now."

" _Please…_ "

Fischer raised his eyebrows. " _Now_ , gyppo!"

Jane fixed his gaze somewhere in the middle distance, and with shaking hands, undid his pants, which dropped at his feet. He carefully stepped out of his boxers…

"Hands at your sides! And keep looking at me". Fischer stood and appraised the young man slowly from head to toe. "Michelangelo would have enjoyed working with you," he murmured, appreciating Jane's lean but not-too-thin, lightly muscled body. He approached, and ran his hands over the blond curls, moving across Jane's face, sliding down his neck and down, down his body. Other hand moving along his back, across the delightful curve of his ass – noting more dark, heavy bruising there…, finger-shaped bruises on his hips… (Smith and Hannigan had indeed been considerably less restrained where it wouldn't show…), legs streaked with blood….

Jane's eyes had closed again and his hands had moved across to cover himself; he was shuddering with revulsion. Don knew how much this was costing him. " _What_ did I tell you!" Fischer grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands back to his sides. "Fucking _look_ at me!" Jane's sorrowful gaze seemed to look through him rather than at him and as Fischer's hand closed over his genitals he let out a strangled sob. And Fischer, despite being hard and oh-so ready, stepped back….

… and kept control of himself, satisfied that Jane was indeed thoroughly broken. "Clothes back on!" but his voice was a shade gentler now. Jane let out a shaky sigh of relief and clumsily got himself dressed again, by which time a blank-faced guard had appeared. "Shower him, clean clothes, back in his cell." Fischer was succinct. He turned away, seemingly losing interest as a silent Jane was dragged, stumbling, out of his room.

For the last few hours of the night, Jane lay curled on his side, quiet, eyes open unblinking, unmoving except for a constant, involuntary shivering. Exhausted, and weary – weary beyond belief. His head was throbbing, bruised body screaming at him as his empty stomach continued to heave and clench, and then there was the deep, dark, excruciating pain created by Smith and Hannigan… which he tried to pretend was not there. He had a memory… of feeling this alone before… but Angie had changed all that. Angie… and then Lisby. He couldn't do it without her – he just couldn't, but she was really gone now – had chosen Bosco and-

… _what was he now? If there was no one for him and…? …What they did to him… that had been bad… the pain… and names they called him…. and all._

He tried to steady himself - breathing – " _It doesn't touch me… I'm still ok… doesn't touch me... still ok…._ " - but his thoughts continued to skitter, half formed, unfocused. Fischer…. it felt like Fischer had raped him too… He was an object now, a _thing_ , kind of… Owned by Don Fischer and the FBI because… otherwise he would hurt Lisbon…? Because ultimately Trick would allow himself to be taken apart piece by piece and scattered to the winds for his Lisby. Even if she _wasn't_ his, after all. After losing Angela and Charlotte his heart had finally opened up again, for Lisby – and maybe _her_ he could actually save even if… well, this new life would be the death of him, but he didn't much mind. He had somehow lived, he thought, far, far too long. But maybe not so bad of a life? He'd done for Red John… in the end. And now… so long as he could keep his Lisby safe he could finally fade away and maybe no-one would notice.

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

Within 48 hours Don Fischer had the paperwork for the transfer of Patrick Jane to the St Paul FBI outpost all but complete and had gone ahead to Minneapolis to finalise the Minnesota arrangements. Having been informed of Abbott and Cho's imminent return to Austin the following day, Fischer instructed his daughter to obtain Jane's signature that night – he wanted Jane flown out and gone before the Austin agents had even an inkling of what was happening. Once he had been presented with a _fait accompli_ there would be little Abbott could do against the might of Fischer, and knowing Dennis as he did, he anticipated the senior agent would ultimately take the pragmatic perspective and cause little trouble. He'd only had a brief conversation with Kim – yes, all had gone according to plan, she would find Jane fully compliant and it needed to be her counter-signature on the paperwork so that she would get full credit for obtaining his 'agreement' – another nail in Abbott's coffin.

Kim struggled to hide her shock as Jane was brought in to her office. He'd been largely left alone in his cell for the two days since his 'persuasion', been given no medical treatment or painkillers and had barely eaten or slept. Her first thought was that he couldn't arrive at St Paul like that – although his face only held a few bruises he was ghostly pale, and could barely move from the pain of the beating he had clearly been given, despite her father's promises.

Jane sat carefully in the seat indicated to him. "Hey Kim, met your dad." His voice was cracked and hoarse, unbelievably, he managed a small smile, but there was no light in his eyes. "He's a straight-up guy," he added, tonelessly. She frowned, her father hadn't mentioned that Jane knew who he was. Fischer senior was right about one thing, though – this was indeed a beaten dog.

"Well, there you are." she said finally. "Right – I have your new contract here – the terms are somewhat changed from before due to your lack of co-operation and all of the immense difficulties you've caused us…"

" _I've_ caused _you..._ " Jane looked steadily at her. She pushed it towards him. "You'd better read it through". Jane held his hand out for the pen, scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page and pushed it back. "No point. There you go, I'm all yours."

She couldn't help it. "Jane….. What did he -" _No._ She shut her traitorous mouth firmly.

He studied her for a moment. Another little smile, and he dropped his head.

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

Abbott returned from the field to a memo outlining the departure of Kim Fischer owing to the transfer of Patrick Jane to the St Paul registry office, to be overseen by Don Fischer from Minneapolis. A transfer which had apparently been completed that morning – Jane was gone. "Shit!" screamed Abbott. Half an hour later he took a call from Fischer himself, who was regretful but blunt. Abbott had given Jane so much rope that he, Fischer, was amazed that Jane didn't manage to hang the entire FBI. Fischer and daughter had taken a different approach, and it was they who would reap the benefits. Abbott must simply chalk this one down to experience and just be glad that the filthy little gypsy hadn't screwed things up for him even further. Oh, Abbott didn't know that he was a gypsy? And Fischer proceeded to tell him all about Kosovo and carnie folk.

By the time a still slightly shell-shocked Abbott broke the news of Jane's departure to Cho a few hours later, he had already accepted the inevitable and wearily batted off Cho's furious protests. For himself, Cho was overcome by an unanticipated tsunami of guilt. He had checked in with a buddy at the detention centre a couple of times, had heard that Jane had been moved and that Kim Fischer was being much tougher on him now and had done… nothing. Not even made the time to go and see him, still angry with him, he admitted to himself, over Lisbon. And now, whatever they had done to Jane had somehow 'broken' him and he had been taken away without the memory of a single friendly face to wish him well.

**I just want to hug him! But no. Not yet, at least. Next instalment will kick off with a little bit of Lisbon and then move, with Jane, to St Paul, Minnesota.**


	4. Early Sept – Lisbon – letting go

Many apologies for the long delay in bringing you this next update! While I have most of this story already written, as I go to upload I'm finding myself re-writing sections I'm not happy with. What follows, alas, was one of those sections.

As promised, to summarise the last chapter (which was pretty hard going) – Don Fischer wanted Jane at his FBI office in Minnesota and used some excessive persuasion to get him there. Poor young Jane, having already been weakened by his torture at the hands of Kim Fischer's men, was brutally and repeatedly raped by Reede Smith and Steve Hannigan, then sexually assaulted again by Fischer senior himself. Jane's capitulation however was ultimately obtained by way of a direct threat to Lisbon herself…

Where is Lisbon's head at, you may well ask yourself. Why is she being such a…. How could she leave our boy like that? I'm hoping that Lisbon's treatment of Jane will be, if maybe not condoned, at least sympathised with. Cos I feel for her, baby! Remember also, at this stage Lisbon herself is _just not right._ Still damaged by the fallout of the whole Jane/Red John thing. Who wouldn't be, really? Also, turns out it's partly Cho's fault…

Early Sept – Lisbon – letting go

Back when the CBI was being swiftly dismantled following the death of Red John and Jane's subsequent disappearance, Bosco had re-appeared in Lisbon's life; suddenly, he was always there. At first she had furiously tried to keep him, and everyone else, at bay, incapacitated with grief for the loss of a man who had all but consumed her every waking moment, but who she now believed had ultimately never been hers to lose. If Trick had wanted to contact her, she felt, nothing would have been able to stop him, but as the months went by with no word she started to fall apart, sinking into a profound depression. Her team, like her, had all been floundering, desperately trying to say afloat as their world was literally pulled up from under their feet. Worried though they all were about Lisbon they had needed urgently to re-establish their own lives and careers somehow – and there was only so much time left to try to help her. It was now that Bosco had jumped into the breach, forcing his way ever further into her life, taking her to the doctor, making her eat, dragging her back from the brink. (Cho, on his way to Quantico, had felt profoundly relieved that Bosco seemed to be picking up the pieces.) Bosco's poor opinion of Jane was no secret, but he had carefully made as little mention of him as possible – it was for Teresa on her own to arrive at the conclusions about Jane that Bosco himself had reached a long time ago _._

And Lisbon had been so, so tired. Since childhood it had felt as though she had had to fight the world. First for her three younger brothers, damaged from enduring their alcoholic father, then for Patrick Jane, more damaged still than her brothers….. But no-one had ever fought the world for _her,_ and now she was tired of fighting ( _for Jane or about Jane_ ), tired of being the boss, tired of being alone and uncertain. Bosco had let her…. rest. No more of that exhausting uncertainty ( _or bittersweet longing_ ) that always had accompanied her relationship with Patrick Jane – Sam wanted to look after _her_. It was like allowing herself to fall into a warm, safe bed. Within six months she had gratefully handed her life to Bosco. He took her back with him to Lafayette, Louisiana, where he had ended up following his departure from the CBI the previous year. He now had a senior position in the Lafayette Police Department and had no difficulty organising a mid-level post for Lisbon in Criminal Investigations. Life with Sam Bosco had somehow taken on the nature of their earlier affair. He was the boss again, and she _needed_ him so much – needed the comfort and security that she had never had from anyone else in her life and that only he appeared able to give her. And now she felt he was all hers – his divorce was over a year old and he showed no desire to be anywhere else but firmly in her life. She imagined her erstwhile colleagues would be quite surprised if they could see her at home with Sam… the age gap between them might be partially responsible of course (he was a good 15 years older than her) but it had just felt such a _relief_ not to be the boss for a change…. Then, like a whirlwind, Trick had come back. And the attraction, on both sides, was stronger than ever.

It had now been three weeks since she'd pushed Trick out of her life and Teresa was in trouble – she could think of no-one else. She found herself replaying their last hours together, over and over. She physically ached for his body, to hear his voice, to bathe in the sunshine of his beautiful smile. Bosco was the invisible man – as though looking through a fog she could see that he was hurt and confused by her distant, abstracted behaviour, but she couldn't seem to fight her way out of the miasma. Whenever poor Sam was not around, she cried and cried as though bereaved. Her appetite had gone, she was barely sleeping. Trick's eyes haunted her, merry and teasing as they walked South Congress, dark with desire ( _and love_ ) in the hotel room as he ignited passion and ecstasy in her she had not even known was possible, and wide with confusion and pain as she had thrown him, along with his offer to her of his love ( _soul? world?_ ), out of her life. What had she done? Because he was Trick she had seen fit to blame _him_ for her infidelity. Because he was Trick and he could see right through people he had never met before and somehow discover their deepest darkest secrets within minutes… could tell if a man he had never met before was having an affair with his secretary, was secretly gay, or had murdered his own child… He may not be psychic, but he just _knew._ Dammit, she was not a stupid woman yet she had been outraged and wronged when, shock, horror, he had again _known_? Who the hell was she kidding? He had just wanted her, and was genuinely trying to be as honest with her as he could and she had thrown it all back in his face. What was she _doing_? And now she was hurting Sam all over again, as though her betrayal with Trick was not enough. But Trick… she couldn't get the memory of him out of her head, sobbing and pleading, his last words to her…. Finally she cracked and phoned Austin. She had to know where he was… _how_ he was.

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

At his desk, Cho struggled to concentrate on his newest case. He was still coming to terms with the events of the past few days culminating in Jane's removal and had been wrestling with the question of whether to phone Lisbon and what to tell her. He had correctly concluded that the two had slept together and, uncomfortable with discussing this state of affairs further with Abbot, was now struggling to properly examine how he felt about it all. He caught a flash of blond in the corner of his eye and looked up quickly but it was just Wylie, doing that annoying hovering thing next to his desk again.

"What do you need?" he said briefly.

"Um… Teresa Lisbon phoned? She wanted to know about Jane, and I know that all went a bit weird and I wasn't sure what you wanted to tell her so…."

Cho sighed. While it could be argued that Wylie outclassed Van Pelt in the computer genius stakes, unlike Cho's much missed colleague he also had the symptomatic tech-geek social skills of a bumblebee. "What exactly did she say?"

Wylie fumbled with a piece of paper and read out carefully: "Just ask him if Jane's still in detention or if he's managed to fly the coop yet."

Cho took himself out of the building to consider the situation. He found himself unexpectedly grateful for Wylie's cautious intervention. Lisbon's call would galvanise him into making a decision, but the fact that she'd got Wylie first gave him some final, precious, thinking time. He could almost hear the wistfulness that would have been in her tone when she'd hoped aloud that Jane had escaped. They both knew Jane well enough to know he was unlikely to give in gracefully to the FBI's demands. But what did he have to tell her? That he, Cho, hadn't actually set eyes on Jane since Lisbon's departure and that, somehow, someone had gotten to him and spirited him away from Austin.

The more he reflected on the situation, the less comfortable he felt. He had already been vacillating over whether to try to get in touch with Jane at St Paul, justifying his lack of action so far on his rationalisation that Jane needed time to settle in but he knew something else was stopping him. Guilt? Or was he still angry with Jane about Lisbon? Cho was friends with both, and indeed during the CBI days had frequently been ahead of Lisbon in recognising, and championing, Jane's unorthodox vision. But his loyalty would always lie with his former boss, and the impact on her of Jane's flight to the sun was something he would not quickly forget. What would Lisbon do if she found out that Jane had been taken to Minnesota, in all probability against his will? Most likely what she had always done - try to rescue him. Would she go charging out to St Paul and cause the most unholy crapstorm? Cho was pretty sure that Don Fischer was no one to be messed with either. Right now his top priority was his beloved ex-boss's peace of mind. Time to give her what she needed. He returned to the office and picked up the phone.

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

Gone again. Vanished from detention and that was all they knew. Cho had admitted that he himself hadn't seen, or spoken to, Jane since dropping Lisbon at the airport, and that, while Jane's escape was probably less of a surprise to him than to his colleagues, it had come out of the blue for everyone. Teresa didn't know what to make of this. No contact at all, she wondered, not even a little clue from Jane? Had he maybe gone back to South America?"

"Most likely scenario in my opinion," Cho's flat tones had assured her. "Nothing left for him here I guess."

Her former 2iC had heard nothing further since Jane had left but she could tell he had been trying to reassure her that, as far as he knew, all was well. Had Trick really just run away from Austin, from Abbott… and from Cho? But nevertheless it would seem that he was now, as Cho had said, just… gone. She _had_ begged him to leave her alone – and Trick would never try to push in if he truly thought she didn't want him – she knew that deep down he was far too insecure for that. So obviously he was taking her at her word… But he had said… " _Please_ give me a chance _please_ , you mean everything in the world to me…." And she had pushed him away. Nothing left for him here, Cho had said. But she could still not stop crying over him.

She took some time off work. Made up a cock-and-bull story about the Austin case having upset her to hold Sam at bay. Drove to the coast daily, and walked, walked for miles, letting the sound of the sea ease her frantic mind. Watched the seagulls swooping, fighting and calling, and one day, to her delight, an osprey, as it elegantly stole a flounder from a bunch of squabbling gulls and soared skywards with its prize. As the days turned into weeks and her body ached from endless walking she began to eat a little more, sleep a little more. Talked herself back into her life, into loving Sam Bosco who had made her happier than she had thought she deserved, and to his credit, had been unwavering in his care and support of her during this mini-breakdown, despite the fact that she was still refusing to tell him its true cause. He finagled more time off for her with her boss and made no protest at her long absences from home. "You do what you have to do, to feel better," he murmured to her one night, when she was tearfully apologetic at her late return from the sea.

The weather finally began to cool and she was standing by the shore late one darkening day wishing she had brought her coat and wondering if Trick was feeling the sunshine where he was, when she heard the distinctive, distant cry of the osprey again, and caught a glimpse of it as it vanished in the clouds. Graceful, gifted. Running rings around those seagulls. But wild, lonely. Not to be tamed by a good little Catholic girl such as her. Perhaps broken it might stay with her a while but once mended… Trick… had finally begun to mend and she had somehow managed to hurt him again. He _needed_ to be free of her, she convinced herself: he was not meant for one such as her. He had come from a different world, lived by different rules and had always been too exotic and strange for the conformist that she felt, deep down, she was. He was now truly free at last to make a new life. Gazing across the water, she felt the magic of Trick ( _the hope of Trick?_ ) gradually begin to fade. At home, when Sam's concerned face hovered near hers, she began to _see_ him again – to allow him to reach her.

She lay in bed with him now, feeling tiny, and protected, as he held her across his body with one gentle arm. He was considerably bigger and heavier than Jane, his strength, although gradually being covered by an encroaching softness, was palpable through the rise and fall of his chest beneath her. She looked into his kind, quizzical face and stroked his cheek, smiling softly at him.

"Hey Reese," he said gently. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah" ( _I'm coming back to you Sam, I need you so much…._ ). She lowered her face to his, and kissed him softly on the lips.

 _breakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreakbreak_

As he hung up, Cho had buried his face in his hands. So he had lied to Lisbon – chosen her wellbeing over Jane's. Just for now. Just to give her a chance, he believed, at some straightforward happiness. A decision not taken lightly, and one which, as far as the loyal Cho was concerned, meant that Jane was now _his_ responsibility. He would not simply abandon him to Fischer's tender mercies in St Paul. But he had to give it a bit longer. Wait just a little. Just until he got a feel of how the land was lying

I now find it feels right to cut this one here. Back to the hard life of young Patrick in the next instalment, which should be uploaded after a considerably shorter interval as I'm pretty happy with it already.


	5. Early Sept – St Paul

Thank you everyone for all the reviews. I so love to read them, even though they make me feel a little protective of my story. But so good to hear what people think! Don't forget folks, _extreme_ AU here. Whether or not a familiar character's behaviour is OOC is always to a certain extent going to be subjective, the majority of FBI characters here don't really care a fig about Jane. He is a criminal working out a sentence by enabling them to catch more criminals. They have a job to do and his feelings and welfare are the least of their concerns. And gypsies in this AU are _not_ popular.. associated with refugees and immigrants – basically 'less than human'…. The FBI party line follows Don Fischer's… with ignorance and indifference occasionally substituting for malevolence. And yes… pretty much Jane Pain all the way but as I've promised before I love him far too much to deny him his happy ending. But that's still a loooong way away…..

Onwards!

EARLY SEPTEMBER – St Paul – Fischers and Jane

Kim Fischer, Bob Kirkland (an Austin agent hand-picked by Fischer senior to work with Kim on her new team) and a handful of agents acting as guards had accompanied Jane on the private flight to St Paul. The seats were wide and comfortable and Jane (warm for the first time in weeks) had simply curled up and slept for the entire journey – his arms covering his head, shutting them all out. Kim stopped the guards from disturbing him. She still felt as though she should have had him checked over by a doctor before they left Austin, but her father had been insistent that all that could be dealt with in St Paul. "You said you wouldn't hurt him any more!" she had angrily protested. "Nor I did," came back Fischer's smooth tones. "No broken bones. No permanent damage….." Still plagued by a disquieting feeling of guilt, the least she could do now, she felt, was just let Jane sleep.

Kirkland had been subjected to a long conversation with Don Fischer about the potential dynamics of the new team. He was aware of Jane's reputation from his time with Lisbon's CBI SCU team (legendary and notorious in equal measure) and that he now had to work for the FBI under duress to avoid the Red John murder charge. Fischer senior had explained that it was Kim's success in finally convincing Jane to do so (he kept the specifics of the 'persuasion' firmly under wraps) which had led to the reward of her own team at St Paul, with Jane as consultant. Kirkland had accepted the transfer offer, (an ostensible demotion for him but mitigated by a significantly increased salary) as he enjoyed working with Kim, and was intrigued by Jane. The Machiavellian Don Fischer had asked him to do his best to ensure Kim did not fall for Jane's fabled ability to charm and beguile. The consultant had to be kept in his place, with his abilities channelled solely into FBI work. Now Kirkland raised his eyebrows, as the usually brisk and businesslike Kim draped a blanket over the slight blond bundle that was the latest addition to their team. He was still rather hoping to stay well out of Ms Fischer's love life.

All too soon they had touched down and were heading towards an SUV, and Kirkland, who had got on the plane after Jane, noted that their new consultant appeared to be injured, and was perturbed to see a guard shove him roughly for not walking fast enough. He looked questioningly at Kim who quickly shook her head and put her finger to her lips. Kim seemed to be talking the talk so far after all.

Reede Smith shook Kim and Kirkland's hands at the St Paul office, ignoring Jane. "The gang's all here!" He clamped a heavy hand on Jane's shoulder, still speaking to the other agents. "Don Fischer needs to see gyppo Jane first – you as well boss, of course. I'll come back for you in ten." Jane, who had not spoken since Austin except to answer some pleasantries from Kirkland, winced imperceptibly at the hand on his shoulder, and submitted to being steered away by Smith.

Kirkland looked questioningly at Fischer. "Is that our new consultant, or our prisoner? Did we beat him to 'persuade' him to work here or what?"

Kim felt her face flame. _Just a little…._ But the new team leader gave Kirkland a hard look. "He's persuaded. That's all we need to worry about. He's still a killer, Bob. _Not_ an equal team member by any stretch. We'll get the work out of him but he needs to be kept firmly in his place – hence the visit with Dad, I guess. He told me he's going to be keeping a very close eye on Jane." The tender Kim from the plane had, apparently, already disappeared.

Kirkland conceded with a smile. "It's all the same to me, Kim - or I guess I should start calling you 'Boss',". Relieved though he was that Kim appeared so far to be resisting Jane's fabled charisma (not that he had seen the unfortunate young man actually display any), he made a note to email Fischer senior. It was unavoidable that Jane would attract more than his fair share of attention in his new surroundings. He would inevitably attract sympathy and interest if it became common knowledge that he was not being treated well by the FBI. Kirkland worried that they would shoot themselves in the foot if they did not rein it in.

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Smith shoved Jane into a chair in front of Fischer, and was invited into the other spare seat. Fischer wasted no time in informing his new consultant how it was going to be. Jane was indeed a virtual prisoner – he would be 'guarded' by Hannigan, his rapist. His fellow abuser Smith would report any serious transgressions to Fischer – more minor infractions to be dealt with by Smith and Hannigan themselves. A microchip would be injected into Jane, known only to Fischer Senior and Smith, who would be able to track his whereabouts at all times. Smith and Hannigan were free to 'discipline' their charge physically as they say fit. _Within reason, naturally_ , appended Fischer, but Jane could not stop his eyes flickering to a smirking Smith, who grinned at him, wolf like. Fisher picked this up. Only at his discretion, he reassured Jane, would any further… _abuse_ be sanctioned.

Jane had his own apartment, he was told, in a block which housed Romani refugees a few blocks away. Basic, but _better than prison_ , and he'd _be with his own kind_ , Fischer cheerfully pointed out. He would have a salary, also very 'basic', enough for food and transport only. He would have no car. His phone would be tracked and monitored and he would have no computer. Of course he could use a burner to call whoever he liked, Fischer noted, although he couldn't speculate on what consequences there might be for this, both here and _elsewhere…_.

Fischer then ordered Jane to get out of his old suit that he'd been given for the journey and presented him with jeans, t-shirt and sweater.

"I don't want these." Jane put them carefully back on Fisher's desk, horrified at the thought of losing his familiar armour.

Fisher leant back and simply raised his eyebrows at Jane. "Put them on." Jane sighed. Took them back. Asked where he could change.

Fischer and Smith found this hilarious. "Ah, the perils of being pretty, eh, gyppo," mocked Fischer cheerfully. "We're all boys here, aren't we? Just get on with it." There was a warning in his tone but still Jane was a rabbit in the headlights, heart pounding again, back in the detention centre with two of his tormentors staring at him. Fischer drummed his fingers. "Bit late to be worrying about your precious modesty now, hmmn? It's not like we haven't seen you before, _you little piece of trash_." Smith grinned again. Fisher sighed. "No one's going to touch you here. But you have to do what you are told at all times or there _will_ be consequences…."

Jane's eyes dropped to the floor as he shakily began to undress, fumbling with his shirt buttons in his haste. Once down to his boxers his eyes flickered quickly upwards, meeting the intense stares of the other men. Fisher was expressionless but Smith openly leered and licked his lips.

Finally fully clothed again, Jane glanced up from registering in dismay the extreme bagginess of his new ensemble. Not a look he would ever have chosen for himself. "Much better," announced Fischer. " Young and vulnerable. I think we've achieved that, don't you, Reede? More _real…_ don't you think?" An affirming smirk. "You'll find more at your apartment. They could've maybe gone a couple sizes smaller…" he trailed off, then refocusing, returned to the briefing. Jane was not allowed to cut his hair unless Fischer said so – same reason. "Be good for undercover work as well."

They were interrupted by a doctor, who Fischer waved in. "I promised Kim you'd have a medical check – any concerns or worries you'd like to share with Dr Cohen here?"

With Fischer's and Smith's eyes boring into him, Jane looked nervously at the elderly doctor, and shrugged, no – then hissed in pain as Dr Cohen pulled his sweater down in order to inject the chip into his shoulder at the base of his neck. As the needle was withdrawn Jane angrily reached up and pulled his too-large sweater and t-shirt half off, exposing his battered and bruised torso to the doctor. "Could I have some painkillers… and antibiotics?" he said simply. That was all he dared, or could bear, to say.

Fischer's man though he was, Dr Cohen nevertheless stepped back horrified, but at an angry signal from Fischer, slipped out of the room. Smith immediately punched Jane to the floor, yanking him back up for more. Fischer allowed the big man another couple of heavy punches which left Jane curled up, writhing on the ground. When Smith proceeded to kick him in the back, Fischer held up his hand.

He knelt next to Jane, ran his hands through his hair and turned his head to face him, sliding his thumb across his cheek. Smith's hands had wandered under Jane's clothes and started roaming over his body. "Do _not_ underestimate me, boy, or the power I hold. If you try to blow the whistle _I will make you wish that you'd never been born_."

"Get _off!_ " Jane was struggling to sit now and get away from Smith's hands. Fischer gestured for Smith to move away, but continued to hold Jane down himself, and leant over him, whispering softly into his ear. " _Just one more fucking stunt from you and your little bitch sweetheart's gonna get some of the same treatment. I'm thinking they might accidentally leave her alone with a friendly suspect… or two. Do you fucking understand what I am saying, you little piece of gypsy shit?"_

Smith, who was not privy to the Lisbon side of Fischer's deal with Jane, watched impassively as Fischer returned to his seat and Jane painfully got to his feet, pulling the ridiculous sweater back over himself.

"Well, boy? Do you have something to say to me?"

"I'm sorry," murmured Jane, arms sliding around himself in that increasingly familiar gesture.

"Reede, get Cohen to give you some antibiotics and _mild_ painkillers for him. Sort him out with his ID, phone, card and keys… here's the address – better get Hannigan to give him a ride home – and tell him – _no funny business_ – that goes for you too... Gyppo – you've got a couple of days off – Smith here and the rest of the team will be expecting you bright eyed and raring to go at 7am on Thursday." He tapped Jane on the painful site where the needle had gone in. "Don't forget, Big Brother is always watching you."

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LATE OCTOBER – Lafayette – Lisbon

Lisbon stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her hands moving slowly over her flat belly. The cheap tester sticks she had finally bought lay abandoned on the sink – but she could still see all of those double pink lines. Not for the first time, she wished she had a really close female friend to whom she could pour out her worries. Grace Van Pelt was the best friend she had had – and they still talked on the phone on a surprisingly regular basis.. but "not this", thought Teresa. Somehow she was just not comfortable offloading this particular situation onto what she (wrongly) perceived as Grace's comparatively innocent head. No, there was no Grace, or anyone else, for her now, and Lisbon decided it might be a good idea to come to terms with how she felt about this little bean herself… before telling Sam….

When Abbott had asked her to travel to Austin, instinct had made her insist that the Jane element of the request be kept from Bosco. (Abbott, a skilled reader-between-the-lines if ever there was one thought this was fair enough.) After Austin, after _Trick_ , she had come home to Bosco, guilty as hell, nervous, terrified ( _devastated, heartbroken_ ), certain that her infidelity was written all over her. And Sam had picked her up as promised, driven her home, fed her takeout and taken her to bed. And she had fallen apart _again_. Only recently had life had resumed its settled, reassuring pattern.

Occasionally Bosco would mention Jane, and her heart would still _lurch –_ but clearly he had no idea what had happened in Austin, as he would still speculate on whether Jane had ever been found and brought to justice. Occasionally he would ask whether had _she_ heard anything ( _No!)_ , and remind her how she must ensure to never let him back in her life… And, always betraying _someone_ , she had nodded, yes, that was in her past and she was glad of it.

And now… _this._ She was on the pill – how the freaking hell had this happened? She Googled. _Things which could make you fall pregnant while on the pill_. Upset stomach. Had that, not long after her return to Lafayette. She was all over the place. Ditto taking St John's Wort. There _had_ been her night with Trick of course, but alcohol didn't affect the pill unless it made you forget and anyway that was too long ago, she was sure… And Sam had been consistently keen since her return… It _had_ to be his. Probably the stomach upset – the St John's Wort thing looked a bit too unlikely…

Her still-flat belly. _A little life_. They had not even discussed children… at all… yet. Sam had none from his previous marriage.… Would he even welcome a baby? Did she? God, _yes_. She welcomed this bean. And so… and so… she would wait. Wait a little longer to tell Bosco. Maybe try _very_ subtly, Trick-like, to glean his likely response to the idea of becoming a father. And if that response was not the right one, to _somehow_ change it. Because this little bean wasn't going anywhere if she had any say in it.

She gazed again at herself in the mirror and watched in wonder as the anxious expression that had seemed an all-but permanent fixture of late dissipated, and her face curved into a wide, melon-boy's grin of pure delight. _A little life_.


	6. Late October

LATE OCTOBER – St Paul

Wearily Michelle Vega slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out through the Violent Crimes bullpen, which now appeared deserted. She was nearly out of the door when a glimpse of brightness caught her eye – Patrick Jane's tousled blond head resting on his arms on a desk tucked away in a corner. He was dead to the world. Michelle's tender heart went out to him. What little she had seen of him since his arrival the previous month she liked very much –jaw-droppingly gorgeous, he nevertheless appeared to be a kind, gentle and humorous young man, although shy, quiet and somehow sad. She could only recall seeing him with a cup in his hands once – it was tea – and, remembering the unguarded expression of bliss he had had on his face, she decided on the spot to make him one now, in the hope that she could then persuade him to go home for some rest. She slipped off to the kitchen, found the cup she had seen him use before and made a chamomile tea.

As she emerged from the kitchen, the hot tea held carefully in front of her, the door to the back of the bullpen swung open and Jane's teammate, Reede Smith and his lookalike buddy Steve Hannigan (two of her least favourite people in the world) pushed their way in. She hesitated and stepped back into the doorway, not keen on striking up a conversation with the pair who, if she was honest, repulsed and scared her in equal amounts. They made a beeline for Jane's desk and to her dismay, Hannigan grabbed the sleeping man's blond curls in one hand, hooked his other arm around his body and effortlessly lifted him to his feet. Smith's voice rang out across the empty bullpen "Sleeping on the job again, Baby Jane – we can't be having that! You screwed up on the Mendel case… need to get your head back in the game! How's about a little wake up call, huh, sweet thing?"

She couldn't make out Patrick's reply, nor see him properly as he now was mostly obscured to her by Smith's bulk, but Smith's response appeared to be to hit him in the stomach, while Hannigan still held him, and she heard a low, hoarse cry of pain. Smith leaned forward and did something that made Patrick lurch backward into Hannigan, whose free arm appeared to be pushed between their victim's legs. Hannigan's head came down and he whispered in the young man's ear, then Smith obscured her view again as he pressed into Patrick, crushing him between himself and Hannigan, and appeared to fondle him, lower down. She heard "Get your fuckin' hands _off_ me!" from a struggling Patrick before Smith hit him again, moved round to his other side (and she could see on Jane's face that he was hurting) and the two much bigger men unceremoniously manhandled him out of the bullpen.

Michelle's heart was pounding and she was shaking, mortified that she had been too afraid to call out or to try to help Patrick, and wondering what it was she had actually seen. What were they going to do to him now? She had an uncomfortable feeling that this was probably not the first time something like this had happened. Her early impression was that Jane appeared something of an outsider on his own team, certainly Smith loathed him, despite Jane's only crime seeming to be attempting to stay out of his way whenever possible, but to hit him and… drag him out like that? She walked slowly over to Jane's little desk, and sat down, sipping thoughtfully at the redundant tea. There was no computer here (she'd never seen Jane at a computer) and the desk was covered with rapidly scrawled notes in black pen on yellow A4 paper – it looked as though he was constructing a vast network of people, locations and events emanating outward from a kidnapping case Fischer's team were working on. There were also a few stray pages were he appeared to have simply been doodling; sketches of birds, the sea, and a few of a very pretty dark-haired woman – he was also a gifted artist it seemed. Her phone buzzed – it was her boyfriend Jason, who knew Patrick Jane from Austin, and, sipping the tea, she shared her worries with him.

Wylie in turn, shared Vega's reports with Cho the next morning. "The guy she's describing doesn't even sound like Jane much… quiet… _bullied_ almost…" and what the hell were they doing with him last night?"

Cho was not happy. "Can you call her now – see if he came in ok this morning?"

At Wylie's request, Vega hopped up from her desk and made her way to the floor below. Jane was not at his desk, and didn't appear for the next two days. Sick ( _again_ ) she was told, and passed this to Wylie. _Jane never used to get sick…_ Cho fretted. He'd give it one more day… then… all he could think of at this stage was to go to Abbott…..

Thankfully, the following morning Vega spotted a head of fair curls amongst a crowd of agents apparently being briefed on a case. "He's here," she whispered. "seems alright from a distance….?"

Cho had a thought. "Could you ask her if she can take a photo of him without being spotted, maybe when he's out of the meeting and she can get a clearer view?"

Vega, a rule-abiding young person who in normal circumstances would have balked at such a request, didn't hesitate to agree. There was something about Patrick Jane – for sure, he looked like a rock star, but he certainly didn't _act_ like any of the other lookers she had known – there was always a kind of cocky, confidence in them, ideally (but sadly not always) accompanied by charm – but Patrick seemed utterly unaware of his appeal… more, there was something _vanquished_ about him. Ironically he _did_ have charm in bucketloads, but it was something gentler and utterly unselfconscious. From what Jason was telling her, the man she was describing was very different to the Patrick Jane he had gotten to know in Austin. Besides, she hated the way Smith and Fischer treated him and this Agent Cho sounded like at least he cared about the mysterious blond consultant.

A couple of hours later Wylie's phone pinged and he went to Cho. They both gazed at the photo of a virtual stranger. He was scruffily clad in baggy jeans and a too-big navy sweater, the clothes, together with his longer, messier blond curls making him look more Kurt Cobain than Patrick Jane. Paradoxically, he looked younger now than Cho was used to, younger than he did when Cho first met him. He _was_ young, Cho had to remind himself, _must still be in his twenties_ , but the suits had helped him act up. _Probably why he wore them – so people would take him seriously_. He was noticeably thinner than the last time Cho had seen him at the hotel. He was clutching a handful of papers, his other arm wrapped around himself and smiling shyly at a (female) agent who was chatting to him. Cho got Wylie to enhance the shot, and his heart sank. There was a darkening around one eye – bruising, probably a couple of days old and a scrape on his too-pale cheek.

Cho dragged his hands wearily over his face and regarded Wylie. "This just isn't right. Do you mind if I call Vega?"

"Of course not….," murmured the younger agent – this Jane looked so _diminished_ from the charming, full-of-life, force of nature that he had met for the first time only six months ago. He texted Michelle and it was agreed that she and Cho would talk during lunch.

She took her phone outside – it felt safer somehow although she was pretty sure no one was interested enough in her to notice what she was up to. Cho, as usual, wasted little time in getting straight to the point. "Agent Vega, thanks for taking the time to talk to me. Can you tell me – does Jane have a couch?"

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Cho worried about using Wylie as a sounding board, but he trusted the young man and it was his connection to Vega which had first raised the alarm. They had not had time to talk unhindered until that evening when Cho dragged Wylie to the nearest bar. "So…," he mused. "No couch, no Airstream that she's seen or heard of, he works all the time, his team don't seem to like him… _Reede Smith_ is on that team… he's obviously lost weight… sleeping at his desk… Smith is pushing him around… he goes off sick… _Steve Hannigan_ (a meathead from Sacramento CBI _years_ ago, he hurriedly explained to Wylie) is somehow in the picture – dammit! What the hell has happened? The Jane I know would never have backed down over the deal he wanted – he's sooner have gone to jail - hell, he even used to _like_ jail…. I need to talk to Abbott. But first I've got to try and get hold of Jane and his old number goes to voicemail… He's gotta have some kind of a phone for in the field if nothing else… Can you-"

"…. ask Michelle if she can try and get it for you?" finished Wylie. "sure. I get the impression she wants to befriend him anyway – she's like that." He hesitated as a thought struck him. "You don't think she'll…"

It was Cho's turn to complete a thought "… fall for him? Doubt it. That's a shadow of the guy we knew."

Cho had his own apprehensions. He had basically abandoned Jane at the detention centre. And, before that, the last time he had seen him he had been pretty brutal with the younger man, he recalled. He could still see the spark of pain in Jane's eyes as his head had smacked against the wall. Twice. Would Jane even want to speak to him? With Red John's murder the very notable exception, the consultant appeared unreservedly non-violent, apparently no more desirous of carrying it out than he was capable of defending himself against it. Try though he might to avoid it however, violence seemed to find him with unwarranted frequency. Even Lisbon used to hit him.. quite hard… at times. He sighed. Jane would either want to talk to him or not, and if he did, the first thing Cho would do would be to apologise.

Cho decided that Vega had no need to dissemble when approaching Jane for his phone number. Nothing she could say would get past him any event. She duly passed a number to Wylie later that day, together with a timeslot during which, Jane had said, it would be good for Cho to call. At 18:20 that evening Cho was drumming his fingers on the desk as he waited for Jane to pick up.

"Hey Cho," came Jane's familiar voice, "so good to hear from you, man!" and Cho couldn't help a small sigh of relief.

"Jane. Buddy. First off, I've gotta say I am so sorry for losing it with you the last time I saw you. I got completely the wrong idea and just let rip before you could even open your mouth."

A pause from Jane. Then "Oh! The hotel! I'd completely forgotten about that – please Cho, don't apologise, it was absolutely nothing and more than understandable in the circumstances."

"No it wasn't, dude. You did not deserve that in any way and you're getting my apology whether you like it or not. And… I never came to see you afterwards – I… before I had a chance, you were gone". He cringed as he said it. _That's not fucking true, is it_?

But Jane dismissed this. "They wouldn't have let you see me in the detention centre, Cho, don't worry. And as for the hotel – if you insist, apology accepted!" Cho could hear Jane's smile. "So, Cho, it's so great to hear your voice. How is everything going there – is Abbott more chilled now that I've gone (you know I actually _miss_ him, although I don't know that we would have worked well together) – have you heard anything from Rigs–"

"Jane!" Cho knew this kind of chatter could take up the rest of the call if he left it to his friend. "Sorry buddy, stop you there. I should have called before but… Girl over there that's been talking to you, Vega. You know she's Wylie's girlfriend, right? She told him some stuff about you, and I'm a little worried by what I'm hearing."

Another pause. "Like what?" was the cautious reply.

"She thinks they're not treating you right there," Cho said flatly, and waited.

Silence from the line. He heard Jane taking a careful breath. "It's not how it was, Cho, that's for sure. Um… it's ok though – beats jail I guess – only four and a half years to go!"

"What happened to your couch, Jane, your Airstream you wanted?"

Cho could almost hear Jane's shrug. "Off the table. I think I really screwed up, running away on the Schneiderman case… Gets kinda cold here for an Airstream, anyway….."

Cho shook his head in frustration. This wasn't getting him anywhere – a good old Jane cover-up. He hated this, but he had to go for the jugular. "Jane. Vega saw you get hit by Smith and Steve Hannigan a few nights ago. Smith's on your team, right? Apparently you were asleep on your desk and they just dragged you out. She said they were…" he took a breath. "…she thought it looked like they were basically _groping_ you… Then you don't come in for a couple days…. What the _hell_ , Jane - you've got to level with me."

"Ah…" Jane's voice cracked slightly and he spoke slowly, hesitantly. "I don't want to lie to you Cho. The team… Fischer, Smith and all… I'm just here to do what I do, you know? They don't think much of me outside of that. You know Fischer's dad is the great Don Fischer, right, runs Minneapolis? Turns out he's obsessed with this ridiculous thing that carnie folk are all in fact pretty much Romani gypsies who in turn are the scum of the earth… and he's somehow managed to pass that ethos on to Kim and the rest of them, so…" he trailed off.

Cho felt a physical pain in his chest, but, knowing his Jane, put a smirk into his voice. "A blonde, blue-eyed gypsy. Sure. Fischer's not playing with a full deck. Just be glad you're not Asian."

" _Green_ -eyed, Cho" came Jane's reproachful reply, but Cho heard his smile – he had played it right. "And there are Korean gypsies too, you know… Kimball's an odd name – maybe that's your secret gypsy identity... " Cho smiled - _this_ was the Jane he was missing.

"Funnily enough he's kind of right," Jane continued blithely. "– not about carnies being Romani, no – that's complete fiction – they're worse about gypsies than anyone even though there are often a couple of Romanies travelling with the carnival – but about me. I do have _some_ gypsy blood, I'm pretty sure. I mean, I hadn't thought about it for _years_ until all of this… But… _I_ have a secret gypsy name – my mother gave it to me – she told me she was Romani so I was too. Can't tell you what it is of course! But I can still remember my mother telling me…. and I must have been _so_ little… to keep it a secret from the carnies because they hated gypsies - (I don't think even my father knew about it….) - but also not to tell the Romanies, or they'd steal me away because of my hair!"

Cho shook his head in amazement. "You really should be a whole book to yourself, Jane."

"I don't think Fischer knows about any of that, though," mused Jane. "It's not on any records about me as far as I know… so it doesn't explain where he's getting his ideas from.."

Cho had learned a lot from Jane over the years, but he'd also learned a lot _about_ him. He got that Jane was indeed trying to be as truthful as possible but realised that he was also trying to distract him from the matter at hand. Cho-like, he returned abruptly to his earlier question. "Jane, what were they doing to you… before they hit you? What did they do after they took you out?"

"Oh…. it's only Smith and Hannigan who…. like to cop a feel. Can you believe they brought _Hannigan_ in… especially for me, it would seem…." His voice trailed off – then he rallied. "But they don't get to do anything worse so…."

Another, longer pause. Cho waited, barely breathing, speed-reading between the lines. Jane's voice came back even quieter. "They… enjoy being the school bullies, you know? I get pushed around a bit sometimes, but nothing serious…" An indrawn breath. "Look. Cho. _Please_ don't worry. Things aren't…. _fantastic_.. here – they've… got me where they want me, I guess.. but… I'm really, honestly ok! You'll… you might hear things from Vega (she is such a little sweetheart by the way, I couldn't be happier for her and Wylie!) that I'm having a bit of a tough time sometimes… but you know me, Cho. I'll take care of it – things could be a hell of a lot worse I promise you, this is nothing…."

"Jane! They can't be allowed to-"

"Have… have you heard anything from Lisbon?" Jane interrupted desperately.

Cho sighed. "She called a while ago. Asking about you. It sounded like…. I told her you'd escaped…. I'm sorry man – I was afraid she'd come chasing after you, you know, and-"

"No, Cho – you did absolutely the right thing! It's better that she just.. I mean, she's with Bosco now…"

Cho was surprised. "You knew?"

"She told me, before she left," said Jane flatly. "Cho, I hope he looks after her! I so want her to be happy… just _happy_ …" he trailed off.

Cho's mind was racing. Hearing Jane's voice had reassured and worried him simultaneously. He had a feeling this phone call wouldn't last much longer so he tried another tack: "Vega sent us a photo. Why're you so skinny and scruffy?"

"Um…" Jane took a few seconds to catch up with Cho's sudden change of direction. "Don't have my suits – only get to wear one sometimes in the field… but I don't get to go much any more. I'd like to look a bit smarter for everyday but I've not got the clothes – only what they've given me… and… I go running sometimes now, so that's gotta be good, right? Doing some exercise…." His voice sped up suddenly. "If Lisby _does_ get in touch again – find out how she is, huh, Cho? And tell me? We can talk again I hope and next time I want to hear all about _you_ … but I've gotta-go-now, I'm so sorry - Bye Cho!" The line went abruptly dead.

Cho went to Abbott, first chance he got, which was a couple days later. Dennis looked thoughtfully at the photo and grimaced as Cho briefly related what he had heard about Jane's team and the Smith/Hannigan incident. Cho was one of his most senior, and professional agents – he had come a long way in a relatively short time and Abbott had high hopes for his future. He took a deep breath – he would tell Cho what he knew and hope that his response would be the right one.

"Kimball, I know you and Jane go back and I can understand how concerned you must be right now. I do know a little more about the background to this… What Don Fischer told me on the phone at the time he and Kim took Jane from Austin (which I didn't pass on to you as I was still kind of processing the whole mess myself) was that getting him to sign on the dotted line ostensibly all hinged on that gypsy thing you mentioned. Don was full of it - managing to make everything the kid ever said or did back up his theory that Jane was to all intents and purposes pure gypsy on account of being a carnie (got to admit he was quite convincing – gave me chills when he pointed out that all Jane wanted were, as he put it, 'his woman', a couch for a bed and an Airstream!). He claimed that he'd used some technique that he'd seen work on gypsies in Eastern Europe to 'persuade' him, so to speak, and that the key to keeping him under control and useful was to ensure he got none of the things he'd asked for... And… as far as I know.. that's how they're playing it. Which explains the majority of your concerns, I hope?"

"I'm assuming- " he put in swiftly, forestalling Cho's imminent interjection – "that the incident Vega saw with Smith and your cop friend Hannigan was punishment for some transgression of his to keep him in line, as it were. Jane is undoubtedly, for want of a better word, "pretty" and Vega, maybe still a bit inexperienced, probably just read more than she should have into what was nothing more sinister than a bit of admittedly crude, unpleasant intimidation (… _that took two days' recovery before he could even come back into work again,_ thought Cho) - I know it's not what either of us would have wanted for him, but you say he seemed together enough when you spoke to him…?"

Cho regarded Abbott with his inscrutable, somewhat unsettling, stare. "I guess. You're ok with this then? It sounds as though he's basically a prisoner of the FBI – and a not very well-treated one at that."

"There's not a lot I can do," said Abbott with a sigh. "And at the end of the day, of course, we've got to remember that a prisoner of the FBI is exactly what Jane is - the man is, after all a murderer – he should by rights be locked up in federal prison – this way we (well, Fischer) can at least exploit his talents to do some good and he stays out of jail. I'm sure things will improve for him as time goes on and he and the FBI get used to each other, but we need to stay out of it and let Fischer and the St Paul team deal with him now, there's no other choice. Keep an eye out for his progress if you can by all means and let me know if you hear of anything serious, but even then….." He threw his hands in the air helplessly.

Cho made the correct responses and backed off, disappointed in Abbott, but believing that the man had been honest with him and had no other agenda. He himself was still far from satisfied however.

Over the next few days, Vega kept her eyes and ears open for what she could discover about Jane. The fact that most of the single female staff (and a significant number of the men) were crushing on him helped the flow of gossip immensely. Once she got past speculation on topics such as his sexual orientation (the consensus was straight, as he was considered way too scruffy to be gay, and of course there was the wedding ring, hinting at a rumoured tragic past) there was a wealth of observations about him that she would have taken longer to discover otherwise. Fischer's team were doing well, very well but they were not yet the top team. Cho realised they were taking considerably longer to close cases (and therefore closing fewer) than Lisbon's team at the CBI had done with Jane. He recognised in Vega's descriptions that the way the consultant worked had radically changed as he was not allowed the control over investigations that he had been given by the SCU. No longer could he set up his elaborate cons and stings - in fact he was barely out of the office. His closures for Fischer's team seemed to come largely from readings and observations, and the connections he could make seemingly out of thin air. There was gossip, however, of plans to send him undercover, and other teams were already borrowing him to 'read' interrogations. When there were children involved, Vega reported, he had always closed so far - exhausting himself in the pursuit of their kidnappers, or murderers, so he was particularly in demand for these cases.

She had also detected a disquieting attitude towards Jane. It was not just his own team who appeared to view him as an outsider. Descriptors such as 'gyppo psychic' and 'carnie grifter' came from less open-minded agents in several departments - with Don Fischer appearing to have been successful in mediating his ethnic prejudices throughout the St Paul office. It was known that Lisbon's CBI team had had an unbelievable 100% closure record with Jane on board, something Kim Fischer's team was not yet able to emulate, and Vega picked up that whenever cases went cold, Jane was largely blamed and there were rumours that he was being made to pay in some way. While she had thus far been unable to substantiate this, she speculated with Wylie and Cho whether a cold case had been behind the recent incident with Smith and Hannigan. Conversely, when his team marked closed cases, whether in house or, as was usual in more major cases, out at Fitzwilliam's' Bar, Jane apparently never participated in the celebrations – either remaining at his desk, with the bulk of Steve Hannigan never far away, or simply going home.

Despite several attempts, Cho had so far failed to get Jane on the phone again and Vega had been unable to speak to him – Hannigan appearing to be a permanent presence at Jane's side. Frustrated, she'd decided a few days later that she would talk to him regardless, courageously marching decisively toward his desk only to have Hannigan block her path. "Walk away!" he had spat at her. Jane had not spoken but she'd caught his attempt at a smile and a shrug – falling short in reassuring her as, although the marks on his face had faded by then, his movements had spoken of a body that was still hurting.

Following Vega's latest call, Cho sat, holding the phone in his hand, for several minutes reflecting on what he had learned about St Paul. Far from reassuring him, Jane's attempt to be honest while telling him as little as possible had worried him more. Jane's admission that things 'weren't fantastic' in fact meant that they were pretty fucking grim.

 _"…. they like to cop a feel…. don't get to do anything worse…. "_

 _"….I get pushed around a bit sometimes…. nothing serious…"_

Vega's observations backed up his certainty that Jane was, at the very least, the victim of regular physical abuse, to say nothing of the intimidation and harassment he must be experiencing. He dropped the phone, putting his head wearily into his hands. All he wanted to do was fly over there and pull his young friend out of this wretched situation. But of course it was not in his power to do so and even the opportunity of a visit looked remote for the present as Cho was in the middle of a highly stressful case, which was keeping him desperately busy for now. And of course, it didn't matter what they were doing to him over there, Cho knew Jane would neither ask for, nor expect any help. Unless, maybe, Lisbon had still been in the picture, he mused. If only he could pick up the phone and talk to her about it, but that would of course undo whatever good work his… face it - _lie…_ had done in freeing his old boss from her worries. Lisbon deserved some peace and happiness now, and she clearly believed she could only find that far away from Jane. God, what a mess!


	7. Early November

I'm starting to really get why people do this fanfic stuff! Doing a lot of writing all over this fic right now and loving it, but it's fascinating the way the story is heading off in directions I had no intention of going. So I thought I'd better let you know as soon as I did… it looks as though that promised happy ending…. won't be that happy. I'm so sorry guys, it's not me, it's my muse! But on the bright side, this means that there will hopefully be a sequel, which _will_ wrap things up in a good way – it has already started to plot itself out. But there's still a long way to go with this one, so here's an uncharacteristically quick update in the lives of Trick and Lisby!

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EARLY NOVEMBER – Lisbon finds a friend

 _So this is morning sickness_. Lisbon wearily lifted her head from the toilet yet again. _Try morning, afternoon, evening and middle-of-the-night sickness,_ she thought grimly to herself. Since discovering her pregnancy the sickness had gotten rapidly worse and her frequent lightning dashes to the facilities meant she could no longer hide it. She had explained it away to her work colleagues (and Sam) as an ulcer flare-up. Now as she cleaned herself up, tidied her hair and readied herself to return to her team, she reflected how glad she was that she was no longer the boss. Her job was being compromised, however, as she was increasingly nervous of going out in the field. Something was going to have to give.

So far, it had been a strange, lonely kind of pregnancy. Sam's birthday had come and gone and, for some reason, she hadn't said a word. But events were going to force her hand, she knew. She needed to see an OB-GYN – for a start she should probably find out how far along she was, and she _was_ getting a little worried about all the sickness. When it came to pregnancy she was probably one of the most clueless 30 year-olds ever. After her mother's death she had been the only female in her household; she could count her number of close female friends over the years on one hand and none of them had been expecting while they'd been close. Add to the mix her male-dominated profession and… nope. She didn't have a clue. Like many career women she _had_ thought about children, but in that vague, having-one-at-the-right-time-with-the-right-man kind of way.

 _Trick had had a child._ Far too early – he had only been 17. Children having children. Often a sign of a chaotic childhood, the desire to create a family of your very own as soon as possible, and to do it all _better_. But Trick's little family had barely been formed before being torn apart by Red John. Trick rarely spoke about his life before…. but occasionally a little story about his wife or daughter had emerged. Those, and his interactions with children that she had seen made her believe he would have been a wonderful father.

 _Would she be any good as a mother_? God knows, her childhood had been no bed of roses either. There was already something deep down in her that _wanted_ this baby very, very badly, but _should_ she be doing this? Now? With Bosco? Why hadn't she told him yet? He'd had no kids with Mandy - apparently Mandy couldn't – but he'd never talked about kids to her… not that she'd talked about them to him either… A shadow fell across her desk and Lisbon looked up to see the dark, striking features of her boss, Madeleine Hightower. "Teresa? Can you come into my office please?"

Madeleine pushed a little bowl of mints towards Lisbon, who took one gratefully. "Mints agree with your ulcer, huh?" Hightower raised her eyebrows. "Often they don't." Lisbon could do nothing but shrug. Hightower got down to business. "Girl, you have got to see a doctor. Your work is _fine_ -" as Lisbon anxiously started to defend herself - "I just don't like to see you feeling bad like this. And it don't look like it's getting any better."

Lisbon liked, respected, and was a little afraid of Hightower. Only a few years older than her, the woman was a force of nature. A superb manager and cop, _she_ was scared of nothing and no-one. Teresa had been on the way to being that person herself.. before… Bosco took over…. which only happened because _Trick broke her heart…_ Hightower was divorced, with a couple of kids, Lisbon had heard – didn't seem to stop her doing _anything_.

"You're right, boss," she acknowledged now. "I will get that organised this week, and I'm sure-"

"Do you know any OB-GYNs here or do you want me to give you some numbers?" put in Hightower.

"I- _what?_ I…" Lisbon saw a slow smile spreading over her boss's face and could only smile helplessly back. "I could really use a few recommendations, please, thank you."

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Three days later she was in a plush seating area waiting to see her new (Hightower-recommended) OB-GYN. She had just had an ultrasound (feeling a strange surge of _something_ at the sight of the flickering little bean on the screen) and had been reassured that all appeared well and that Dr Davidson would talk everything through with her. Somehow, Madeleine seeing right through her had made everything a little better. _One_ other person knew about her little bean – soon it would be more. And, boss or not, it looked as though Hightower was willing and able to provide that female companionship that Lisbon needed so badly right now ( _always_ , really…). After catching Teresa by surprise she had explained how easy it was for her to spot the signs – and told Lisbon a little about her two kids – now aged 7 and 10. Things were still a touch shy between them, but Hightower had asked Lisbon to tell her all about the appointment and insisted she come to her with any worries at all. Teresa was daring to hope that here was someone she might truly be able to confide in, to go to for support – something she had had precious little of in her life.

Dr Laura Davidson was a tall, cool, but smiling, lady, probably not much older than Madeleine but already in possession of striking, silver hair. After repeating the ultrasonographer's assurances that all was well with bean, Dr Davidson looked at the ultrasound picture . "It looks as though you're just about 12 weeks along (nearly at the end of your first trimester!) – does that tally with what you think?"

"That far? No – I was sure – I mean I just figured it was a lot less than that, because I've only…" she trailed off.

"I make it that conception would have been around the middle of August," smiled Dr Davidson.

August. Austin. _Trick._ Oh _god….._!

Dr Davidson saw her face. "Is everything ok? We can't pin down the date _exactly…."_ Lisbon grasped at this. The night she had come home she and Sam… Basically she had slept with Sam less than a day after…. So she would have no way of knowing. That was even worse.

She managed to get through the rest of her appointment somehow. Dr Davidson was concerned about her amount of nausea and sickness, but reassured her that this would hopefully start diminishing as she went into her second trimester. The appointment was concluded with agreement over the date for the subsequent one, and Dr Davidson's gentle invitation that Teresa's partner might like to accompany her next time.

 _Not if I can help it_ , thought Lisbon, as she walked to her car. How the hell was she going to tell Sam now? What if this baby wasn't his? She was 12 weeks gone…. _She_ could see the swelling curve of her stomach, Hightower had figured it out in seconds… She couldn't keep it quiet much longer. She _was_ going to keep this baby, no matter what. Catholic though she was, the religious reason for rejecting termination had never even entered her head; from the moment she'd seen those uncertain pink lines on the little blue sticks her love for this ephemeral little _something_ had never been in doubt. She'd spent little time imagining what it would be like to have and hold a baby, only knew that she already loved this little being growing within her _right now_ (as sick as the little creature appeared to be making her) and was _not_ going to lose it.

A few days later, Lisbon was the recipient of a black eye, courtesy of an inadequately restrained, and aggressive, perp in interrogation. A frantically worried and contrite Hightower took her to lunch, where Lisbon flatly reused to step down from active duty unless it was a direct order. Hightower reluctantly agreed she could stay... for now... and their conversation took a more pleasant, and personal turn. Lisbon's sickness was no better, but she was surprised at how much she enjoyed chatting with Madeleine, and lunch ended with swapped contact details and an invitation for Teresa to meet with Hightower and her children, Mimi and Will, for a picnic by Lake Martin the following Sunday.

For herself, Hightower was happy to extend the hand of friendship to her feisty little Chicago team member. Lisbon was a superb cop, but like many women in her position seemed to struggle to relax her guard and allow herself to be the woman she was – and that hopefully meant to allow a few female friends into her life. Madeleine had been there, done that (ironically it had been her divorce that had been the catalyst for her) and she also recognised in Teresa a kindred spirit and potential very good friend. She would normally have been inclined to let the friendship develop at a slower, more organic pace but Lisbon's pregnancy had galvanised her into hurrying things along. This girl was going to need _someone_ by her side, and _soon_ , and from what Madeleine could work out, there was no-one else. _._

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EARLY NOVEMBER – How Jane Lives Now

Trick dreams of Lisby sometimes (sometimes he dreams of Angela). Mostly he still dreams of Charlotte, often waking dreams.

His childhood has not conditioned him to expect much for himself, and it had been a challenge for Angela to convince him that he was loved, and could love in return. After Red John it was Lisbon who, unknowing, had in her own way begun the process again. On a subliminal level Trick had sensed this… and found the courage to lay his heart at her feet. Her rejection of him had been swiftly followed by his rape at the hands of Smith and Hannigan; the double blow has levelled his fragile self esteem yet again.

Ironically it is Don Fischer's threat to Lisbon that gets him out of bed in the mornings; although not suicidal his inclination might be to simply disconnect from life. He endures the often indifferent, or casually cruel treatment meted out by his team mates and other colleagues to 'gyppo' Jane. Worst is the appalling stress created by the near constant presence of Smith and Hannigan in his working orbit, as well as the occasional punch, kick or grope they manage to get in when no-one is looking, but he tries to keep his head down, and focus on doing as good a job as he can on the cases that come his way.

At night, he goes to his tiny, cold apartment. A few of his neighbours in his 20-floor building, all enduring circumstances at least as humble as his own, are inclined to befriend the quiet young man but, unlike the Jane of old, who would have revelled in getting to know new people, he is now more shy and reserved. He is always polite and pleasant of course, but largely manages to keep himself to himself. But he is still Patrick Jane… even when he isn't _trying_ to lay himself out to be irresistible, people are still drawn to him.

Lack of money or time, coupled with stress and exhaustion, means he rarely food-shops or cooks. When he can no longer ignore his hunger he buys something from the nearest vendor _if_ he happens to have any money. When he has none, he's been going hungry, but now that happens less often. Two floors up is Mrs Yannis, a Greek Roma dressed always in widow's black, rightfully and loudly angry at the world. But she has only mumbled endearments for her sweet boy in no. 113 who will always carry her heavy shopping bags thirteen floors up when the lifts are yet again broken. Even though the first time he offers, as his passage is blocked by her bulk toiling up the stairs ahead of him, she thinks he is trying to rob her and whacks him with her bag, sending him spinning into the stair rail. But he is who he is – he cannot let her struggle on alone and he smiles and he persists and he makes her trust him. And he delivers her bags to her front door but doesn't ask to bring them in. She always buys too much food, unable to stop cooking enough to feed men and children long gone – now she brings her leftover _Kokkinisto_ and _Yemista_ down to that handsome (but too thin!) young _Patrikios,_ determined to make her surrogate grandson eat.

Then there is little Dillon, sobbing in the hall far too late one night. Jane opens his door and follows the sound to find a snotty, filthy, stinky dark-haired boy who can't be more than 2, even if he is tiny. He is crouched outside the apartment across the hall but one, as though he's trying to push himself into the door. "Mommm-aaa!" he wails. Jane is careful. There are many, many bad people living in this building, and as a result, many more who hide behind their doors regardless of any sounds which might invade their thin walls. No one comes, although an angry shout of "Shut that fucking kid UP!" emerges threateningly from the apartment next to Jane's. Jane lowers himself to the kid's level, gently introduces himself. The ensuing conversation, mainly in sign language on the kid's part, establishes that Dillon believes that his momma is on the other side of the door. How he came to be out in the hall at 2am Jane cannot elicit. Jane, of course, knows who lives here – same as he's figured out nearly all of his neighbours. He's seen the girl – Lorelei, mistress of, or married to, a drug dealer, who visits her rarely. She is beautiful. Jane has, however, truly been caught by surprise by the presence of this little boy.

The only thing which will calm Dillon is to get him into his momma's apartment. Jane hastily weighs up the risk of Lorelei's man being unexpectedly home against that of his neighbour storming out to throw the kid, and Jane, against the wall, and finds in favour of rapidly picking the lock to Lorelei's home and letting Dillon in. Unable to abandon him in a possibly empty apartment, he reluctantly follows the determined little toddler into the living room, where Lorelei jumps out of her skin at the sight of both of them, tears off her headphones and screams at Jane.

Now, of course, she asks him to come sit with Dillon for a couple hours here or a night there. He doesn't mind. He likes making the little boy smile, even if in return Dillon breaks his heart with reminders of Charlotte. Turns out Lorelei's only just got him back from social services and she's trying hard to make a go of it. She still deals, though, and offers him a hit of this or that. Bad as he feels a lot of the time, he is tempted. She thinks he's "hot stuff" and wants to sleep with him. Lonely as he feels a lot of the time, he is tempted.

But most of his time not at work he is alone and there is a certain peace in that. He buys some sketchbooks and pencils, finds a battered used acoustic guitar, and spends too much of his tiny budget on music and second-hand books. He starts running. Like his books, music and drawing, running, he finds, takes him away, into another world. That's what he's always been good at – escape. He finds himself running further and faster, relishing his hammering heart and exhausted, sweat-soaked body. And then sometimes, if he's lucky, he's able to sleep and he dreams of Lisby.

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EARLY NOVEMBER – FISCHER MEANS BUSINESS

It was Kirkland, the only reasonably friendly face in Jane's working life, who first noticed that the younger man was constantly rubbing his eyes and had started resting his head on his desk during quiet moments in the bullpen. Seeing Hannigan hit Jane across the back of the head, with a growled "Get up, gyppo!" galvanised him into action. He had previously given both Fischers his opinion about how Jane was being treated, and while the fact that he'd been ignored did not particularly bother him he was fundamentally not a bad man, and decided it wouldn't hurt to show the kid a little kindness. After sending Hannigan off with a flea in ear Kirkland took Jane to lunch, where he asked him about his headaches and concluded that he might have problems with his eyesight. Jane was making short work of his food and, claiming he wasn't hungry, Kirkland shoved the remains on his plate over to the younger man.

By the time he'd polished that off as well, Kirkland had persuaded him to visit his optician, He'd picked up that Jane was not being paid properly and simply (and truthfully) told the young man that he, Kirkland, was being paid handsomely by Fischer for working with this team and he was more than happy to spend some of it on Jane, arguably the cause of his improved finances. He took Jane along, and, as he suspected, the kid was diagnosed with moderate near-sightedness and issued with a pair of thick rimmed glasses.

Jane was very pleased with the effect. They made him less… 'pretty', he thought. This gave him the idea of growing himself a beard, something he'd been delighted to discover was possible when he'd been hiding out in Venezuela. Now, vainly hoping to stop being hit on all the time, to look older again and, in particular, to try and get Smith and Hannigan to lose interest and stop their persistent harassment he'd had the beard brainstorm.

By the end of the first week it was coming along well enough for Smith to tell him to get rid of it. He ignored him. Smith came back a few days into the following week and whispered in his ear. "Orders from Fischer. Lose the fuzz _and_ the glasses, gyppo." He smirked at Jane. "No point hiding that pretty light under a bushel, huh, sweet thing?"

Jane stuck it out. Pitching his voice so that nearby team members could overhear he patiently explained to Smith the necessity for his glasses and how the team directly benefited from his improved eyesight and reduction in headaches. And he didn't do anything about the stubble either. On Sunday morning, a photo was messaged to his phone along with a message from Don Fischer. _Thought you'd like to know, poor little Lisbon had a run-in with a suspect who somehow got loose in interrogation last night._ It was a police evidence shot of Lisby, with one eye blackened and a bleeding lip. The glasses and baby beard had vanished on Monday morning. Jane apologised to Kirkland – he'd lost them. Kirkland bought him another pair. Those "got broken". Irritated, Kirkland gave up, and left Jane alone, regretting his brief bout of philanthropy. Jane, consumed with guilt over Lisbon, and with his fear of Fischer renewed and augmented, was utterly unaware that a potential friend and ally had, for now at least, been lost.


	8. Mid November

I guess you could say this chapter is mainly about friendship. It's definitely the happiest one in a while. Introduces a couple of new/familiar faces I think you'll like. And plenty of dialogue! I hope you all enjoy it.

MID NOVEMBER – Lafayette - Lisbon, Bosco and Hightower

Sam had been a unimpressed when Teresa announced that a precious Saturday was to be taken up by her picnic with Hightower. "You see her all week at work – god knows, _I_ wouldn't want to see her in my leisure time, that woman's a ball-breaker!"

Lisbon smirked. "And that's why you're not coming! I'll tell her you said so anyway – she'll take it as a major compliment…"

"We could've gone to the Cajuns – I can always get tickets…"

"Now you tell me!" Lisbon loved baseball, but she was really looking forward to her day with Madeleine. "Why don't you go with the guys – I'll be home no later than 6 anyway…?"

Bosco gave up. "What takeout do you want?"

"Urgh… no…" she pointed vaguely at her stomach. "Still playing up… and I'm gonna have to eat food at the picnic – takeout'd finish me off!"

"Ok, Reese." Usually a patient man, Bosco was increasingly feeling a niggling need to take action sooner rather than later. Something was most definitely up his woman. She had explained the state she was in after Austin by claiming she had been really upset by the (confidential, of course) case she had worked ( _as if! This was Reese, after all!_ ). When Bosco phoned him, Abbott had confirmed her story, so despite still not believing a word Sam had reluctantly parked this question for the time being. It could wait. She had appeared to pull herself out of it ok, but he still felt as though something intangible had changed between them. Now she was sick. _She couldn't be pregnant… could she_?

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November in Lafayette was as warm as in Sacramento, and Lake Martin was a child-friendly paradise. Mimi and Will were polite and friendly kids who Madeleine clearly adored, and they and Teresa took to each other right away. After a substantial lunch the two women, too replete to move, were content to watch from a distance as the children raced off to try out the play equipment. Madeleine passed Teresa a bag of cookies and Lisbon sighed regretfully. Normally she loved these things, but she'd no chance in hell of keeping one down now, especially after all of the food she'd just managed. Hightower had no such qualms, crunching a salted caramel cookie. "Have you told Sam yet?"

"No..oo. Not just yet," admitted Lisbon. "I just…" she sighed. "It's…."

"….complicated?" asked Hightower. "Why is it so complicated, Teresa? You're having a baby with your man, you're feeling sick as hell, you could really use his support right now. Also, isn't he going to a bit pissed when he finds out you've been keeping it quiet for so long?"

Teresa lay back on the rug and covered her face with her hands. "Aaargh! The thing is…" she glanced uncertainly at Madeleine.

"…. the thing is…." encouraged Hightower. "Teresa, you do know you can trust me, right? 100%."

And Lisbon felt that she did know. Working with Jane had given her confidence in her instincts and she found she could often read people sooner and more easily than before. She smiled at Hightower. "I know. It's just…. no one knows a word about this at all…."

Madeleine was intrigued. She _knew_ something was up, and she had her suspicions but she was keeping those to herself. "Well spill, girl!"

"When I went to Austin… I… well, the _reason_ I went to Austin in the first place was to see… Back in Sacramento, with the CBI I worked with this… incredible guy.."

Hightower was a step ahead. "Not that consultant who used to close all the cases?"

Teresa, nervous enough already about sharing her secret was brought up short, and felt heat rising in her cheeks. "How did you…?"

"Every cop worth their salt has heard about the CBI's glory days! Did you not realise, honey? Tiny little lady cop and her magical, psychic consultant! The only thing I was guessing what whether it was _him_ you'd gone to see in Austin, and not someone else from your team… what's that other guy called who's now a leading light in the FBI over there – Cho?"

Teresa could only shake her head in admiration. "You are _very_ well informed!

Hightower smirked. "Oh you better believe it baby! You don't get to be section leader (while female, black, and a single mom) by keeping your head in the clouds! And I'll tell you what else I've heard – I heard that your psychic boy was fly as they come….?" her grin turned mischievous.

Wordlessly, Lisbon pulled out her phone, and showed Hightower one of her favourite pictures of Jane, a candid snap she had taken when he had been snoozing on the old CBI couch. Golden curls formed a halo around a face that was the picture of (outrageously handsome) innocence. "Patrick Jane. I'm guessing you've heard about Red John?" (Hightower nodded, of course, without looking up from the photo). "Well after all that… kinda blew up he disappeared for a while. And then a few months ago… he came back."

"So this is the guy? So young! Doesn't look old enough to have done all the stuff you hear about… but oh my, Teresa, he is…. _fine!_ " breathed Madeleine. "So, what… _he_ came back to Austin, huh?"

And Lisbon told the (edited) story of Patrick Jane to Hightower, pausing only when Madeleine needed to chase the children away so she could continue. She culminated with the ( _heavily_ edited) final night in Austin.

"So you've slept with Patrick Jane… this one time… the night before you fly home to Sam Bosco?"

"When you put it like that…" murmured Teresa. "We should have slept together a long time ago…. Or not at all!" she hastily corrected herself, then sighed. "He's always messed with my head so much….."

"I can imagine he would…" acknowledged Hightower thoughtfully. "So where is he now?"

"I honestly don't know," admitted Lisbon. "Far away again I'd guess. He escaped the Austin FBI (I've no idea how, but it didn't surprise me when I heard!) not long after I left, so I'm guessing he headed back to South America or somewhere like that. Somewhere with sunshine…. I hope…."

Madeleine prodded her, with a grin, to return her to the matter at hand. "And now…" pointing to Teresa's stomach. "… this… may be his? How do you feel about that?"

"Messed up!" groaned Lisbon. "Why, why, why, does the conception date have to be _then?_ I thought it was later! I… don't know what to do about Sam – I _have_ to tell him… about the baby…. but then the lying starts! He _hated_ Trick so much – still does, I'm sure. Right now as far as he's concerned I haven't seen him in over two years! If he knew that I've slept with him… I don't know what he'd do!"

Hightower frowned. "You're not scared of Sam, are you?"

"God, no!" exclaimed Lisbon. "He's an old softy, but Trick just seemed to bring something out in him… Did that to a lot of people… really…"

Madeline smiled at Lisbon's unwitting use of her love name for Jane. "I'd love to meet this guy. Sounds to me like you… felt a whole lot for him," she finished, carefully. "So is he completely out of the picture now? Because what if he _is_ your baby daddy? You are 100% sure that you are done with him and committed to Sam? Because otherwise that Patrick Jane's just gonna keep on messin' with your head….?"

Lisbon smiled sadly. "Patrick Jane will be messing with my head until the day I die. But now…" she rested her hand on her belly – "… _especially_ now, I need…" She interrupted herself. "You know, Maddie, I have gone… in here…" she pointed at her head "…to the ends of the earth and back for Trick. He is… _extraordinary_. The things he can do… the life he's led… Still so young – I mean, he's a couple years younger than me, but - so old too, you know? He was still a child him _self_ when…" _No. There was no need to go there right now._ "He's a contradiction. Grew up far, far too fast, but I guess never really had the chance to grow up at all, you know? I don't know, Maddie… his life has been so hard on him that all he seems to really know how to do in response is to run away. And I've… I mean… _my_ life has been tough too – oh… nothing like his but… I… _need_ people who are going to stick around, you know?"

Her eyes now shone with tears and Madeline, gently covering her hand with her own, smiled encouragingly and nodded for her to continue. "… And I'm _not_ extraordinary, Maddie, I'm just Teresa Lisbon who wants to love and take care of a man… and a family and be loved and looked after in return. And Sam can do that for me. But Trick… I… I just don't think he can.. !" she stopped herself, biting her lip in attempt to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

Madeleine's dark eyes gazed perceptively at her new friend. She saw further than Teresa right now. This young man, Patrick Jane… well he was clearly this woman's _life._ But today, that was not what she needed to hear, nor would it do her any good until things had had a chance to shake down how they might.

"Well Teresa, right now there's only one thing you really need to do - I think we both know what that is."

Lisbon brushed away a stray tear and smiled shakily. "Just assume I don't, for a second."

"Honey, all you've got to do is to tell Sam about is the pregnancy. You're not going to be lying to him any more than you already are. Unless he actually _suspects_ you were up to no good in Austin, it shouldn't make a difference. Then you've just got to hold your nerve and hope this baby don't come out lookin' like the Angel Gabriel!"

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MID NOVEMBER - St Paul – Enter Summer

A week after Jane's latest run-in with Smith and Hannigan, Kim Fischer had been called in by the St Paul Supervisory Special Agent, Virgil Minelli, for an informal meeting. Minelli lit his first cigarette Fischer sighed.

"So, Agent Fischer, your team has had a little time to bed in. How do you think it's going?" he began.

"Pretty good, Sir." She handed him the case records spreadsheet.

Minelli put down his cigarette long enough to pick up the paperwork. "But not quite at the top of the case closed leaderboard yet, hmmn? You think you'll get there by Christmas?"

"Definitely, Sir. We've really had to hit the ground running, and it's inevitable that there have been a few adjustments to make as we've gotten used to working together."

"How's Jane working out? He's had a few sick days…."

… _from being hit too hard.._ thought Fischer grimly to herself. If she was honest, the acquisition of Jane had been far from the bed of roses she had been hoping for. Whatever her father had done to him had changed him radically from the self-assured, charismatic young man she had known in Venezuela and Austin. Fischer senior had made it clear to her that she and her team needed to keep Jane _cowed,_ but she was beginning to get the feeling that this was working a little too well for the team to benefit. Reede Smith was the prime mover - Jane was clearly afraid of both him and that goon Hannigan that Don had appended to her team in order to watch over him, and they in turn took pleasure in tormenting and harassing the young man at every opportunity.

Of her other team members, Rick Tork followed Smith around like a puppy, and aped him slavishly, including emulating his conduct toward Jane, and Susan Darcy had clearly bought into Fischer senior's gypsy theory and regarded Jane as though he was something she needed to scrape off her shoe. Only Kirkland treated him like a human being – she remembered that he had mentioned to her right at the start that he thought their approach to Jane was all wrong; at the time, irritated at what she felt was his interference, she had focused on following her father's advice to the letter.

She herself felt in an impossible position – the youngest member of the team she led (with the exception of Jane) her resultant insecurity had led her to adopt an overly top-down leadership style and that, together with her father's dire warnings, meant she was afraid that any manifestation of what could be seen as indulgence, or even tolerance on her part towards the consultant would undermine her authority over the rest of her team of seasoned agents.

She remembered with a pang Jane's first day at work. He'd been off ( _yep, from being hit too hard…_ ) so the rest of her team had had a two-day start to forge a connection. Nevertheless he had arrived, half an hour late, to their morning meeting (clearly still in some pain) but all smiles, with a tray of coffees and donuts for everyone. They had been spooked, as not only did he appear to know who was on the team (no-one to her knowledge had yet told him about Tork or Darcy) but he also knew their favourite donuts and exactly how they all liked their coffee.

Unfortunately Kirkland had not been there that morning, leaving Smith to greet their consultant's hopeful contribution with scorn. "What a shame – there goes your food budget for the week, gyppo! Wasted - you can't buy your way into the human race, you know."

Darcy had pointedly ignored both the gift and Jane, and Hannigan and Tork had smirked at Smith's remark (although all three had been happy enough to help themselves to Jane's offering). Jane, smile faded, had simply given a small shrug and quietly sat down at the far end of the table. And she, the boss, had done nothing to nip their cruelty in the bud.

But… "We're getting there with Jane," she reassured Minelli. "Obviously things are different to when he worked at the CBI – we have to bear in mind that he's basically a criminal – so we can't give him the same freedoms… but-"

Minelli had been watching her searchingly. He raised his finger. "I see. So you would say that these sick days have been caused by… what… he feels he's not getting enough freedom?"

Kim stopped. Minelli was waiting for something. "I- he's not settled in very well yet I guess but I-"

"Agent Fischer," sighed Minelli. "You are as new to me as the rest of your team. But you come highly recommended. I am assured by your father, and Dennis Abbott, to name but two, that you have the makings of an excellent leader. You are equipped with a team of experienced agents and an apparently magical consultant of your very own. And yet, this young Jane, this amazing asset of yours I've heard so much about, is taking sick days because, Agent Fischer, YOUR OWN TEAM MEMBERS HAVE BEEN PHYSICALLY ABUSING…. …HITTING HIM IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE OFFICE!"

Fischer's heart was hammering. Minelli had switched from pussycat to roaring lion in a New York minute. He had lit another cigarette and was now pacing behind her chair, disconcertingly forcing her to twist around to look at him. "Now I am well aware, Ms Fischer, that you and your team answer directly to your father in Minneapolis, and that ultimately I am only renting you space here. I am also aware, that you would not succeed (even in the unlikely event that you might want to try) in curbing the ignorance and prejudices which appear to have surfaced throughout this office with the advent of this unfortunate young man, this apparent " _dirty lying little gyppo_ " to repeat just one unpleasant description I have heard. However. What I _do_ expect, Agent Fischer, is that while you are working in _my_ office you will _have control of your own team._ And you will do everything in your power to ensure that each and every member of that team is treated with the utmost civility and respect. _Do I make myself clear_?"

"I'm sorry." Kim managed. "It's been difficult. They all think of him as… I mean, they all know he… well… that he basically is a… murderer who-"

Again, Minelli raised his hand before she could continue. "Ms Fischer, I am fully cognizant of Patrick Jane's back story. But in my office I take my agents as I find them. And from what I've gathered, since he's been here this boy hasn't hurt a fly – he's done nothing whatsoever to warrant the appalling treatment that he has been receiving."

Minelli's voice was gentler now, and he sat back down at his desk. "I know this is not easy for you, Kim, and I know that your position is further compromised by having to defer to Don. But let me give you a piece of advice. Look after your asset, Agent Fischer. Take better care of him. Set an example, to your team in particular, and to the rest of the office as well. _There will be no bullying in my office_ , Agent Fischer, I cannot be more clear than that."

Kim could do nothing but nod soberly. "Yes Sir," she said simply. "Understood."

"Very well." Minelli ran a hand tiredly over his jaw, but visibly relaxed. "I have a couple more things I need to quickly raise with you, Agent Fischer, both of which may well help improve this sorry situation in which you find yourself. First off, I know Don appointed him, but I don't think you'll be surprised to hear that in my opinion you've got the wrong 2iC in Reede Smith. You need to talk to him, and fast. I'll give him until Christmas but if he doesn't improve I'm replacing him with Kirkland, and I'll leave it to you to explain to your father why. Otherwise we'll review where we are over the holiday."

Kim nodded in agreement. She would be more than happy for Kirkland to take over- and if there was a way Minelli could get Smith out of her team altogether without antagonising her father she would be delighted. She kept this to herself, however.

Minelli lit yet another cigarette and gazed blearily at a buff file in front of him. "And also…. I've had a problem with a junior Minneapolis agent land in my lap – name of Summer Edgecombe - they want her transferred here. I'm gonna give her a shot on your team." He passed the file over to Kim.

"Sir, it says here she's an ex-informant! Prostitution, drugs…. how did she even get _in_ to the FBI?!"

"Beats me," grunted Minelli. "But remember, Ms Fischer, you need to learn to take people as you find them. She obviously has a hell of a lot going for her to have risen above that kind of a past." He held out the file. "You can take this copy away with you. From what I gather she's also something of a computer whizz, she's been useful undercover and her contacts are still proving invaluable in narcotics and vice cases. Unfortunately, much like your young consultant, she doesn't really fit the FBI mould, and has been ruffling feathers wherever she's been put. Between you and me they want her out of Minneapolis as I gather she's been sleeping with… well…," he sighed "it doesn't really matter who she's been sleeping with but - _someone_ who should have known better."

He raised his hand reassuringly at Kim's expression. "Your father knows all about it. What he _doesn't_ know is that I'm putting her on your team. You're still a man short, you've no real IT skills there and no proper junior agent. Who knows – it may be just the shot in the arm you need to get to the top of that leaderboard after all. And she's young, closer to Jane's age – maybe that'll help them _both_ find their feet."

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"Well shit," said Summer. "Here goes nothing." She waved her card at the security guard and sauntered into the St Paul FBI resident office. Virgil Minelli _(fuck, that guy could smoke!_ ) had given her the briefest overview possible of her new team. Here was her new boss, Kim Fischer ( _Daddy's girl!_ ) coming to meet her – she appeared as buttoned up as most of the female agents Summer knew but her smile seemed genuine as she introduced her to Susan Darcy. _Who didn't even_ try _to smile and looked like she was choking on a fucking lemon. Is the mini-skirt/tattoo/piercings combo just too much for you_ Suse _? SO good for undercover work – you should try it! Or…. not. Bitch was 50 if she was a day._

Bob Kirkland, heading out of the office, appeared unbothered by her attire and was friendly enough. _Super clever,_ possibly _gay, not a creep.._ were Summer's initial impressions. She decided to like him for now. Rick Tork was short, same height as her with her heels on ( _if_ he wasn't wearing lifts….), and his piggy little eyes just about fell out of his head at the sight of her. He was clearly delighted to have the desk next to hers and assured her he would give her all the help he could. _If I'd_ had _breakfast, it'd be on the floor…_ mused Summer.

No Smith or Jane yet. Kim brought a pile of files to Summer's desk and set her to work hunting down a suspect's bank anomalies. She was making short work of it, despite Tork's continual fawning chatter. _He was single! Who knew? Staying that way, buddy._

An hour or so later, a shadow fell over her desk and she looked up to see a _big_ guy. Not _quite_ as wide as he was tall, cos he was pretty tall, but _big._ Her hand was enveloped in a meaty, sweaty grasp. "Reede Smith." His eyes were doing the roving up and down thing and he wasn't even _trying_ to hide it.

"Yeah, face _here,_ " she snapped, yanking her hand away. Unbothered, Smith continued his lascivious perusal and smirked. "Welcome to the team." Somehow, she didn't think he meant it. _Met his kind before … be very careful, Summer._

There was no sign of the consultant, Jane, ( _weird name!_ ) yet. Tork helpfully informed her that he was interrogating for another Violent Crimes team. "What, is he some kind of master interrogator or something?" Summer was wondering if it was too early to slope off for a smoke and a coffee, and whether she was expected to get them for the rest of this hideous team as well.

"Hell no!" scoffed Tork. "He stays behind the glass and just watches… sometimes tells the agents what questions to ask. Then he figures out whether the suspects are lying or not – saves a shitload of time. Hicks' team owes us. _Again_."

Summer was intrigued, despite herself. "So he _is_ some kinda psychic then – that's what I heard…..?"

Tork looked condescending. "He's some kind of a _gypsy_. Comes from carnie folk. Can't trust him as far as you can throw him although I guess _you_ …. " he tailed off. Summer smirked. "Oh, you can trust _me¸_ Tork. I've come over to the dark side!"

Tork looked briefly confused but rallied. "Well, all I know is he does what he does but… he's…" He paused to shove some chips into his mouth, then continued, mouth full. ".. he looks like nothing, but he killed a man with his bare hands - he's got his own fucking _minder_ for fuck's sake – he's not one of us… You thinking of heading to the coffee cart….?"

 _Fucking FINE._ Summer bowed to the inevitable. When she returned to the bullpen with a laden tray, another, older, guy was there, looked just like that creep Smith only maybe even bigger… He didn't _look_ like a gypsy. Or a conman come to that. _Could_ be a killer though. But what he _looked_ like was a big, stupid, cop. Oh well, best cover of all, she supposed. So that was her team – _no danger of sleeping with any of this lot – Virgil Minelli is a crafty one…_

She sighed, put the tray down on the meeting table and went over to the new dude, her hand outstretched. "Hey Jane, I'm Summer - new fish? Good to meet you. Sorry I didn't get you a coffee, you weren't here…."

The big man thought this was a real laugh riot. He looked across at Smith and Tork, who were heading over for their coffee. "Hey guys, the sexy Ms Summer here didn't get _me_ , clever little _gyppo Jane_ , a coffee! Don't worry, sweets, you don't have buy anything for the likes of me! Anyway I'm not _man_ enough to drink coffee, I only like _tea!"_ Smith and Tork cracked up as he put a simpering expression on his face and moved forward to help himself to one of the cookies she had also brought.

Summer scowled and shrugged – _fuck this fucking team –_ when a much smaller, much younger guy emerged from behind Jane. He was still a good few inches taller than her ( _not that that was hard.._ ), slight build, blond curls, scruffy, looking like a fucking _skater_ _boy_ , and for one of the few times in her life she thought to herself not just _he's hot,_ but _he's beautiful_.

"Patrick Jane," He held his hand out and gave her a shy, heart melting smile. _Jesus!_ thought Summer. _Fucking kill me now!_ The rest of this horror show and now _this? "_ Hey," she said simply, shaking his hand. "I'm Summer. So I guess that charmer over there is your….. minder?"

The real Jane nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. "Kind of. It's really good to meet you – I hope you're settling in ok?"

" _Kind_ of." Summer rolled her eyes and grinned at him.

Delighted, he beamed back at her, then looked across at the rest of the team gathered around the meeting table. "They're not _that_ bad –" he said, _sotto voce_. "Well… they _are,_ but… Fischer's actually _ok_ but you'll have to watch your…" he bit his lip, and looked intensely at her. "… your _edge._ Dial it back a bit – play up the blond airhead (that you're clearly _not_ ) – she might even like you. Apart from that, stick with Kirkland whenever you can."

"And what about you – can I stick with you?" ( _Yes of course she was fucking flirting in one minute flat – fucking_ look _at him!_ ).

It was Jane's turn to roll his eyes. "Come _on_ , haven't they told you? A ten foot pole'd get you too close to me."

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I'm glad to leave them both happy! There's likely to be a bit of a longer break before the next installment...


	9. Pre-Thanksgiving

My longest episode yet (it kind of _exploded…_ ) for the holiday break. A lot happens – and Jane experiences very mixed fortunes. My apologies.. Reede Smith swears a _lot…._

A Happy New Year to all!

MID NOVEMBER – Undercover Confusion

To the annoyance of Kim Fischer and the majority of her team, Summer and Jane hung out. A lot. As wily old Minelli had predicted, each found something of a kindred spirit in the other. Kirkland finally got to see a glimpse of the famed Jane charisma, albeit entirely directed at the team's newest recruit. Summer delighted in his lightning fast brain and was invigorated by his off-the-wall approach to, well… _everything_. It did not take her long to intuit Jane's status on the team (although it mystified and saddened her) and she immediately employed her own sharp tongue and forceful personality to act as a buffer between her skater boy and Smith, Tork & co. For himself, Jane was unashamedly happy to finally have a friend in his life again and was just beginning to re-engage with the world a little.

Although Don Fischer had chewed out an unrepentant Minelli when he heard where Summer had been placed , it wasn't long before the advantages of this situation presented themselves to him. He announced to Kim that he would be in St Paul the following day together with a couple of senior cops, and wanted a meeting with his daughter and her team. As they filed into the room he eyed the two youngest members, noting with interest that they were sticking together like glue, going for seats as far from Smith as possible. He vaguely remembered Summer from Minneapolis, but she had largely been someone else's problem. He was satisfied to see Jane still clad in his baggy attire, although it hung from him even more now, he noted, as Jane appeared thinner, his hair longer _._

Abruptly Smith, one-armed, pulled Jane out of his chair in a swift movement and yanked him down into the seat next to his - Fischer watching impassively noted in an instant the responses of his daughter's team to this little piece of unpleasantness. A flicker of anger crossed Kimmy's face and she glared at the perpetrator, but didn't speak. Don had heard all about Minelli's apparent tirade from Reede Smith, who had in turn been duly chewed out by Kim. Carry on just like before, Fischer senior had reassured him. Smith was ultimately working for _him_ and he would see him right. The large man clearly had no problem with this directive. That nonentity Tork, was smirking in amusement at Jane's discomfiture, while Susan Darcy characteristically was acting as though nothing untoward had happened. Young Summer had furiously opened her mouth to protest but Fischer pinned her with a savage glare. Kirkland, however, was unbothered by glares from either Fischer, or the presence of the two as yet unidentified people accompanying Fischer senior, and had risen angrily from his seat.

"This is _not_ acceptable!" he snapped, addressing Smith, and both Fischers.

Smith smirked insolently at him. "Obviously Steve Hannigan's not part of this meeting so… I'm just doing my job - making sure little gyppo here is not tempted to make a break for it, " dropping a heavy hand onto Jane's shoulder.

Kirkland was clearly about to let rip, but Fisher raised his hand, reminding them all where they were. "He is just doing what has been asked of him," he said simply. "And the young… man… himself has no problems with it, _have you, Jane_?"

Jane had barely responded to any of this, not even attempting to escape Smith's hand on his shoulder, but now he glanced at Fischer briefly. "Oh, love it," he said, but without force, gifting Summer a quick eye roll before his gaze dropped and fixed on the table. Summer felt like crying but Kim, suspecting that this was a show of dominance put on by Don for the benefit of the two strangers flanking him, felt a bitter rush of hatred for her father.

For himself, Jane felt a fleeting pang as to how pitiful he must now appear, but no longer cared much. Summer was the only person he cared about here and he flashed her a quick, reassuring little smile when he felt her anxious brown eyes upon him. The old Jane would have rejoiced in effortlessly puncturing Don Fischer's arrogance and humiliating him in front of the entire table but this Jane lived in constant dread of what else Fischer might do to Lisbon were he to put one more toe out of line. Now he was pragmatic, pride all but gone. Fischer wanted him broken, broken he would be.

Fischer senior meanwhile, gave a quick nod, drawing a line under what had just taken place, and introduced Michael Molony, a captain in the Minneapolis Police Department, and Ulrike Johannsen, a lieutenant from St Paul. They took the floor and together sketched out a difficult narcotics case which had dragged on for many months with no sign of a real break. The gang behind it was notoriously violent, and a major undercover operation by Min PD had ended with the cover being blown, the death of one cop and life-changing injuries for another. Now a smaller operation, attached to the Minneapolis parent gang, had been discovered attempting to gain a foothold in St Paul. But SPPD were concerned that any undercover operation they attempted would also fail and both PDs were now looking to the FBI to add another level of expertise.

"Our intel…," explained Molony, looking at the dark Kirkland, "… is that the guys running this show are an Eastern European Romani family.." (the eyes of Kim's team went straight to Jane) "…and we have no one in either police department with any connection to that culture or language… At this stage we need any advantage we can get. We're looking to work jointly on this case with FBI – ideally with your people undercover – people with experience working with drug gangs and Senior Supervising Agent Fischer reckons that you might be the go-to team here because of you…" to Kirkland again.

Kirkland nodded. "It's been a while, but I've done undercover drugs work in Houston, generally short stints though. I wouldn't really welcome anything over a few months – is there an anticipated end date?"

"Before Christmas if we get lucky." responded Johannsen. "It's the Romani connection we're hoping will clinch it. We need someone to access the wholesaler level as the intel is that there's to be a major drop within a couple of weeks."

"Jesus, that's not long!" fretted Kirkland. "I thought you were looking for something lower down…"

"Well that's the whole point…," Molony leaned forward in his seat. "...You'd be getting in as a low-level dealer here, but the Romani connection would hopefully fast-track you to where you need to go – the gang think they _know_ there are no gypsies anywhere near law enforcement so it looks pretty watertight – and we believe there are quite a few holes in the gang hierarchy here in St Paul. We're hoping you can leapfrog some of the lower people… obviously it will need… we'd really need your experience on this one."

Kim was trying to make sense of this. "You want Jane as well, then?"

Molony and Johannsen glanced at the fair-haired young man she was indicating. It was their turn to look flummoxed. "Why?" said Johannsen. "He's kinda young to have that kind of experience? Although…" addressing Jane "…your age would actually be an advantage – they prefer younger dealers for selling to the high-school kids… But no, two agents on the inside would be more of a risk, and it's the Romani connection we need more." She nodded to Summer. " _You_ have solid cover here in St Paul though? You could be a connection into the gang on the street – might help to bridge the age gap – no offence!" she smiled cheekily at Kirkland.

Jane flickered a quick glance to Don Fischer, who was obviously waiting for the penny to drop. Enjoying himself at other peoples expense, as usual. But again the younger man kept silent. "Hang on." Kirkland had got there. "I have no gypsy connections. That's Jane." Molony and Johannsen looked satisfyingly confused as Fischer leaned back in his seat and smirked.

"You? You don't look very Romani.." Molony was unimpressed.

"Um, I'm not… particularly," said Jane uneasily, flickering a watchful glance at Fischer from beneath his lashes. "I don't know why-"

"Ashamed of it of course, but he's gyppo alright," Fischer interrupted with confidence and finality. "Tell them boy, do you speak the language?"

"What, Romani? Well, I can get by but that's only because-"

Again, Jane didn't get to finish. "Who the hell speaks Romani unless they're one of them?" Fischer asked rhetorically. "Grew up a carnie – speaks Romani – born to it. Trust me, he'll blend in a treat." Jane subsided. Clearly Fischer had the plan mapped out.

The drugs ring had been targeting high schools in poorer areas of Minneapolis/St Paul, selling a cheap form of heroin occasionally laced with fentanyl which had already been linked to the deaths of a handful of young people in the area with several more hospitalised. With Min PD undercover now hobbled they urgently needed to crack this one open. A small break had appeared with the death of a minor dealer and this was where Molony wanted Fischer's Romani agent to come in.

That this agent appeared now to be Jane rather than Kirkland was all good, opined Johannsen to Molony as they raked over their somewhat eye-opening meeting with the FBI over lunch afterward (Fischer had filled the cops in on the bare bones of Jane's backstory once the team had been dismissed). Summer had already been earmarked to set up an introduction through her existing contacts for the FBI mole and, as Johannsen noted with satisfaction, Jane made a considerably more convincing 'boyfriend' for Summer than Kirkland. "Yes, he's young, but that's undeniably better for this job, he's not an agent, but Don Fischer seems to have limitless regard for his talents…."

"And it takes the pressure off of us," added Molony with approval. "I mean, he obviously thinks the sun shines out of this kid's ass while at the same time he doesn't really seem to give a shit about his welfare…. So if it _does_ all go to hell again, it's hopefully gonna make it easier for us to keep a good relationship with the FBI. Win-win."

Johannsen was thoughtful. "Poor kid. I get the impression Fischer's happy to throw him at anything that comes up… Whatever happens - I don't seem him lasting long…"

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MID NOVEMBER – Pre-thanksgiving - Smith's birthday is sub-par

That afternoon, following a short, lively, discussion with her father, Kim was able to outline the final plan to her team. She had been pleasantly surprised by the ease with which Fischer senior had agreed to her suggestion that Reede Smith should accompany Jane undercover, as a kind of 'minder' to help ensure Jane's safety, unaware, of course, of Don's less altruistic motivation of continued surveillance. Now, at the end of the table Summer whispered in Jane's ear "Look at Smith's face! Having to be your bodyguard's pissed him off! Shoulda been Hannigan but they can't use him as he's just too damn stupid to go undercover." Jane chuckled. The rest of the team glared at them. The job sounded daunting, but high school kids were dying, and with Summer at his back Jane felt ready to give it his all.

Kim and Kirkland worked with both police departments to utilise all of the existing intelligence in the construction of an involved and detailed backstory for Jane, enlisting Summer's help for the connections she was going to make. Kirkland gave Jane a crash course in the fine art of undercover work and for the next few days Jane stayed in the office until well after midnight – watching hours of video, reading relevant material and committing his cover story to memory - until he announced himself ready to go. Summer duly got him a meet with gang members, just off Lexington Parkway and Pierce Butler. He was very impressed. "Five minutes from where I live – at least I'll know my way around!"

Summer wasn't. "You live in _Frogtown_? That's just about the worst area in St Paul! And that's where they put you?"

Jane shrugged. "Meh – some of my neighbours are nice. We're trying to get the heating fixed before it turns _really_ cold…."

"Come to mine," said Summer simply. "Get warm."

Jane's smile lit his face. "That would be the most wonderful thing… but…" He put his arm around Summer and whispered in her ear. "They've injected a tracking chip into me. I have to go home or they'll know."

Summer turned into him and held his face close to hers with two hands. "They are complete fucking bastards, Patrick," she murmured. "I can't believe they get away with how they treat you."

Jane gazed sorrowfully into her deep brown eyes. _You don't know the half of it, Summer Breeze. Better that way._ He wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

"Something here for you, Smith!" called Tork, and on his way back to his desk Smith stared at them, narrow-eyed, across the bullpen. Being at work was not what he needed on his fucking birthday. _She practically had her fucking tongue down his throat for fuck's sake._ _And where the fuck was fucking Hannigan?_ He badly wanted to hurt Jane, but it was too close to the last time, and he knew he shouldn't jeopardise the upcoming undercover mission. He contented himself with ( _doing Hannigan's fucking job)_ marching over there, yanking Jane away from Summer and shoving him back down into his seat.

"What the _fuck_ , Smith!" screamed Summer. "We were talking about the _case_ , you weirdo creep!"

The entire bullpen heard that, and Smith picked up several sniggers and sly looks directed his way. Jane had dropped his head over his desk, completely failing to hide his huge grin. This was too much for Smith, who launched forward and belted Jane hard upside his head, sending him and his chair onto the floor. Summer flew at Smith but found herself restrained by Bob Kirkland, who had appeared out of nowhere. Jane was already on his feet, dusting himself down and carefully checking the side of his head, still unable to keep the smile off his face. Smith literally wanted to kill him but was stopped in his tracks by Kirkland's cool, appraising gaze. "Come on, everyone," said Kirkland calmly. "Let's focus on the case, here."

(On finally returning to his desk, Smith had discovered a bag containing a truffle cheddar pretzel, his all time favourite, something Smith didn't even know you could _get_ in St Paul, accompanied by a little post-it note with a cheerful 'have a good one' written on it. Swift investigations revealed that not only was he correct in his belief that no-one else had a fucking clue that it was his birthday, but that the fucking supernatural gyppo ( _how the fuck could he even fucking KNOW this shit_?) had been seen dropping the bag on his desk earlier that morning. For a micro-second Smith actually felt like a heel, but it soon wore off.)

That night Smith and Hannigan were finishing the day in their usual watering-hole, Smith having revealed the significance of the date to his associate, if for no other reason than to get a fucking drink out of him. Hannigan, who had been on a training course that afternoon and was not therefore cognisant of the day's main event, was bitching about Summer - her dress-sense, her attitude, but mainly the fact that he was horny as hell and had no chance with her.

Smith on the other hand, drinking steadily, was simmering. Inevitably the bullpen fracas had reached the ears of Virgil Minelli, and Smith, Fisher and Kirkland (but neither Jane nor Summer) had been summoned to his office for the mother of all tongue-lashings – the outcome of which was that Smith was stripped of his 2iC position there and then and it was summarily handed to Kirkland. Jane ( _the little shit_ ) must have used some kind of carnie con to ingratiate himself with Minelli as their boss had been unequivocal. "If I ever see you, _or_ that pet gorilla of yours, Hannigan, lay another finger on that boy, or say another unpleasant word to, or about, him, so help me Smith, I will bounce you right out of this office, Don Fischer or no Don Fischer, case or no case, and if the team has to bounce out right with this bully, Ms Fischer, then so be it." _Thank you very fucking much for my birthday fucking present, you little gyppo scum._

Now Hannigan's complaining voice penetrated Smith's brooding thoughts, and he suddenly crashed his glass down on the bar. "If you're that fucking horny Steve, why the fuck don't you just go pay for it like every other ugly bastard?"

"Jesus, Reede, who the fuck rattled your cage?" grumbled Hannigan, and Smith growled, and proceeded to enlighten his colleague as to exactly which little gyppo piece of scum had done just that.

"Bloody typical," sympathised Hannigan. "I'm never gonna get near that little slut if she's crawling all over gyppo Jane. I'd be happy enough with another go at _him_ instead (probably less likely to catch something and all…) if not for bloody Fischer saying we can't screw him again…"

"Have you got a one-track fucking mind or what…" muttered Smith, then suddenly prodded Hannigan. "Fuck – let's kill two fucking birds with one stone. Let's go pay our little gypsy friend a late-night visit. Give him a bit of a send-off before he goes undercover. Sweet birthday present for me and you can get your end away as well. It'll teach him a fucking lesson at the same time. Don't worry about Fischer – I'm actually pretty sure it won't bother him one way or the other, but either way I'll make sure the little shit is too scared to breathe a word to anyone. I reckon all we need to do is threaten his new little slut and we can tap pretty little Baby Jane whenever we fucking like…"

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MID NOVEMBER Pre-thanksgiving – Of Rescue, Love and Breakages

It was after midnight when a well-oiled Smith and Hannigan let themselves into Jane's apartment – something they'd always been able to do thanks to Fischer's policy of disempowering his consultant as much as possible. Smith had anticipated correctly that, exhausted after his long nights preparing for the case, the little blond gyppo would be dead to the world, and there he was, curled up on his pathetic little sofa bed, facing away from them, only his messy hair poking out from under the bedding. Smith pulled off the layers of blankets and rolled him onto his back, pulling his arms away from his face. "Like unwrapping my very own birthday present", mocked Smith as Jane's eyes flew open and he tried unsuccessfully to lunge from the bed. Hannigan came forward to hold Jane down and slam a meaty hand over his mouth as Smith yanked his t-shirt up to expose his chest. "Ah Baby Jane… all on your own in this strange city – bet that little slut Summer hasn't managed to fuck you yet – in fact, I doubt anyone's touched you since… well…. us. Reckon it's time we gave you a little more lovin' … show you we do care, really…"

Jane had not yet felt able to share the details of the original assault with another soul and, far from having recovered, still had frequent, terrifying nightmares. With Smith's hands already eagerly roaming over his body he fought his instinct to simply shut down in complete panic. This was no nightmare. This was about to happen all over again… "You can't do this!… Aaagh!" gasped Jane, thrashing frantically in Hannigan's painful grasp as Smith's delivered a sharp punch his stomach before a hand slid under his waistband then swiftly lower - when suddenly, with timing from the gods, a loud knocking began and Lorelei's slurred voice could be heard shouting outside.

"Pat-rick! Baby boy! I know you're in there! Come on out to me – I need you!"

"Who the hell is that?" hissed Smith, withdrawing his errant hand in order to grab Jane by the hair.

Jane dared to hope against hope that _somehow_ this interruption would save him. "Lorelei… my… neighbour… she… she lives across the hall… She won't go away until I talk to her and… the guy who lives next door gets a bit c-crazy when there's too much noise…"

Lorelei called again. "Hey sweet boy! You gotta fix something for me, baby! My Georgi's not home and Dillon's asleep. I'm aaall alone!"

"Go and fucking sort her out," Smith was just snapping to Hannigan, when on cue, a deep, feral shout came from the other side of the wall.

"Shut dat fuckin' whore up, kid, or imma come tear you _both_ apart!"

Jane, his attackers' grips temporarily loosened, sat up hastily. "Yeah, that's him. His wife's nearly as bad…."

Lorelei was now shouting abuse at Jane's neighbours. Smith shrugged and grinned quickly at Hannigan, pulling Jane out of bed and shoving him to the door. "Fucking get her in here then. I'm sure we can find a way to keep her quiet."

Jane, with Hannigan breathing down his neck, opened the door to an unexpectedly lucid Lorelei. " _Run_!" he hissed and dove forward, as simultaneously she grabbed his arm, yanking him further away from Hannigan's vainly grasping hand and together they were across the hall and inside Lorelei's flat before Smith's frustrated " _Fuck_!" rang out, and the neighbours started yelling again.

Behind his rescuer's hastily locked door, giddy with relief, Jane took Lorelei's face between his hands and kissed her passionately. For a split second, hearts racing, they stared into each others' eyes, then Lorelei seized the moment and pushed him towards her bed, neither taking any more notice of Smith and Hannigan resolving matters with Jane's neighbours in the hallway.

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Jane was awoken by naked Lorelei leaning over him and covering him with kisses. "Good morning, lover," she purred.

" _Don't_ ," but his sleepy smile belied his response and he reached up to pull her down to him.

"Don't worry, my sexy Patrick, Georgi knows I get lonely sometimes… and he'll be happy for me that it's a sweet boy like you taking care of me," she murmured.

"Happy, huh?" Jane's tone was doubtful but his body was already responding to her caresses. "Well so long as he doesn't come after me with a _cheuri_!"* She giggled, joyously flinging herself onto him again, and it was a while before they came up for air.

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A few hours later, Jane was lock-picking his way back into his own flat, Dillon at his heels. Lorelei had nipped out on 'business' promising she would only be an hour or two. As always, Jane was more than happy to help. Their new closeness felt like a good thing and he had been touchingly grateful (and extremely impressed) when Lorelei disclosed that she had seen Tweedledum and Tweedledee enter his flat and, rightfully fearing for Jane's safety, had… exaggerated her drunken state. He knew that, despite her desire and affection for _him_ , Lorelei was deeply in love with her husband, Gheorghe Dragusin, a huge, dark, bearded Romanian gypsy that Jane had caught a rare glimpse of; he wasn't around much. Serendipitously, Dragusin had connections to the gang that Jane would be trying to infiltrate so the blond consultant recklessly figured his cover could only be enhanced by the deepening of his relationship with Lorelei, so long as 'Georgi' didn't take too much exception to it. Jane had from the outset presented himself to Lorelei as a street artist/performer as well as, surprise surprise, a bit of a grifter and a pickpocket (with Romani blood of course) so it would be a small step for him to be trying to get into the local drugs action.

Jane was at heart a one-woman man. After Red John had been dispatched, Lisby had finally replaced Angela for him as that one woman, and since her rejection of him and his subsequent experiences in the detention centre, his instinct had been to keep _everyone_ at arms' length. But Jane loved women, and his new friendship with Summer (not to mention her clear attraction to him) was beginning to open him up a little. He had even begun to consider asking her out, on the subconscious premise that if he could not be with the one he loved… maybe it was time to love the one he was with. And then there was the equally beautiful Lorelei - making no secret of her feelings about him from the get-go. The cocktail of emotions he had experienced last night, sheer terror when a second attack appeared inevitable. followed by the heady wave of joyful deliverance he'd felt on his unexpected rescue, had simply short-circuited what would have been his normal polite rebuttal of Lorelei's latest advances. And now here he was - happily able to collude in her no-strings approach to sex… which was… _wow_ … and as he and his little shadow entered his flat he couldn't stop a smile appearing as he thought of how good it had felt to be close to someone again.

A smile which rapidly faded as he beheld his demolished home. Smith and Hannigan had obviously taken out their frustration at their thwarted plans on his precious possessions and had wrecked everything they could lay their hands on. They had torn up books, broken charcoals, and emptied paints onto his few little bits of furniture. His sketches and drawings (and Dillon's, he noted sadly) were torn to shreds. The meagre contents of his fridge had been tipped onto the floor. They had poured his single bottle of red wine (along with what he hoped was water…) all over his sofa bed and smashed the bottle (and his plates, bowls, cups and glasses) for good measure. And, worst of all… "Bo-ken," piped Dillon, holding up a dangerously sharp fragment of Jane's acoustic guitar. "Want… moo-zic!" and the little boy began to cry.

Cuddling him, Jane felt like crying too – for Dillon's sake more than his own. The little boy had few personal toys or possessions and had loved playing (which _occasionally_ involved drawing an actual picture) with Jane's art materials. He would try to sing along to the guitar and was fascinated by the sounds the strings made: Jane had decided he might well be a musical prodigy and would let him try to strum for himself. There had not been much else for Smith and Hannigan to break, but those few, mostly second-hand possessions had nevertheless cost Jane a large proportion of his paltry income and he knew it would take months before he could replace them.

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Early Monday morning Smith and Hannigan pounced on Jane as soon as he walked into the bullpen. Tork and Darcy watched impassively as Smith grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into an interview room. As Hannigan shut the door behind them, Smith was already knocking the young man to the floor. He pushed his foot down on Jane's chest. "You do _not_ run out on me, _ever._ Do you understand, you gyppo scum? You are _mine._ "

"Ow." Face satisfyingly drawn with pain, Jane closed his eyes. "Get your foot off me." Smith lifted him from the floor, threw him into the chair and got into his face.

"So don't fucking do it again!" he hissed.

"You invade my home so you can… assault me and then trash my stuff for not letting you! You hit me… and... the rest… _all_ the time.." sighed Jane. "I've tried to stay out of your way, do as I'm told… why can't you just leave me alone?"

"You talk as if you _count_!" scoffed Smith. "I can do what I want with you, so can he" (pointing at Hannigan) "so can everyone here, come to that… – when is that going to get through your thick gyppo skull?" He accompanied this with mocking, sharp two fingered jabs.

Jane hadn't been bullied like this since living with his father. He was feeling the same emotions as he used to back then – impotent rage, humiliation and fear. This was ridiculous – he was a grown man – a person! "Oh for Christ's sake! Just act like a fucking human being! I even got you a birthday present… Minelli…"

"Minelli' _what_? He's not fucking here today to mollycoddle you, Baby Jane!" jabbed Smith. " _And_ it was not the birthday present I _wanted_ from you, sweet thing!" He nodded swiftly at Hannigan who pulled Jane back to his feet while pinning his arms tightly behind him. Smith grabbed his head between two hands and slammed his mouth onto Jane's for a violent, bruising kiss. Jane writhed helplessly in the grasp of the two larger men and when Smith released him, he barely had a chance to wipe his mouth frantically, wide-eyed before Smith struck him, hard, across the face, knocking him back into his chair, and finally stood back, grinning at Hannigan.

Jane was quieter now, careful, bleeding from his mouth. Sore all over. Again. He wrapped his arms around himself but wasn't quite ready to quit. "What went wrong with you?" he asked Smith quietly. "Why are you so hung up on torturing some 'gyppo' who surely means nothing to you at all? Can neither of you sustain a relationship? I mean, if you really are so into guys, you should maybe try each other… they say people are attracted to partners who look similar to themselves…"

That was more than enough for his tormentors, and he was on the floor again getting the shit kicked out of him until Smith remembered himself and hastily pushed Hannigan away from Jane. "He's got to be able to walk to go fucking undercover, remember," he muttered.

In the bullpen, Tork smirked contemptuously at the bruised, shaken consultant and informed him that Minelli was indeed away for several days at a conference. Kim and Kirkland were shut away in her office with their heads down over the case, Summer was already out in the field and Susan Darcy was sitting at her desk. For a moment, a distressed Jane actually considered appealing to her for help with his their colleagues until he caught the older woman glaring down her nose at him with her usual look (where he was concerned) of slight revulsion. Who was he kidding. He was on his own in this. No help here.

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To his relief, Jane managed to persuade Kim that Smith's presence would be off-putting during his first undercover meet. He did it on his own and it went off without a hitch. That evening, he and Lorelei partook of his 'taster', and as the opiate crawled into his system, numbing all pain, and Lorelei wrapped herself gently around him, he could only sigh in bliss… and relief. The following day he handed over what was left to the FBI toxicologists. He would be meeting a few more of the gang hierarchy the following night, and for this, unfortunately, Smith was to accompany him.

Smith, as Jane could have predicted, turned out to be a liability. "What the fuck is that?" Ademola, the very large, very dark, very threatening gang leader, pointed at Jane's scowling 'minder'. You can't take _that_ out on the streets."

His number two, a pockmarked individual named Cantone enquired "You too pretty to sell drugs on your own, surfer boy?" to the leering smirks of his many, equally intimidating colleagues. "My fucking sister could beat the shit out of him…" he muttered, to further sneers from the rest.

Not for the first time, Jane heartily wished he could at least cut his fucking hair. A riot of blond curls just didn't do it for this job, tie them back though he might. "Look," he sighed resignedly, utterly unintimidated. "I keep this moron" (jerking his head towards a glowering Smith) "around because I don't look like I can fight… _well_ , I can't fight… much… Makes people want to have a go for some reason... That _does_ make me nice and unthreatening for the kids though… specially the girls… they _love_ me… And what I _can_ do is sell anything to anyone. If he bothers you that much, I can keep him away. I may not be able to fight much, but I have… other skills…"

A knife, which there was no _way_ he could have had on him because Ademola had had him fucking _searched,_ flew through the air and skewered Cantone's palm to the wall. The guy _screeched_ and before anyone had time to react Jane's face was in his. Ademola froze the rest of the gang with a look, and watched.

"Why don't you get your fucking _sister_ to sew it up for you," Jane hissed, yanking the knife out, to a surge of blood, and another gurgle of agony from Cantone. He wiped it carelessly on his victim's t-shirt before… Ademola didn't actually see him put it anywhere… it just disappeared again.

Smith was unusually quiet as he headed for his car. Jane was in as far as Ademola was concerned, and had negotiated himself a sweet deal. Wrapping his inadequate hoody around himself against the cold, he turned away from Smith to walk the few blocks to his home. "How'd you do that knife thing?" blurted Smith.

"Gypsy," said Jane, neutrally. "We're good with knives." He walked away without another word.

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Smith promptly reported the knife incident to Kim Fischer, who invited Kirkland (whose sharp mind and wisdom she was gradually beginning to appreciate) to sit in when she talked to Jane. Smith was predictably belligerent. "It was utterly unprovoked - he jeopardised the whole op before it had even started!"

Fischer, to Jane. "That certainly sounds the case to me. Your role is not to endanger yourself or your fellow agents – certainly not by some kind of…. intimidation or showboating! Well? What were you playing at?"

Jane was frustrated. "Look, either you trust my instincts to do what needs to be done or you don't. You're making me work for you because I can do something that you can't. So let me do it!"

Smith, angry, leaned into Jane's face. "You need to learn that you're not the one in charge here, gyppo!" he began. Kirkland raised his eyebrows at Fischer, who tactfully managed to dismiss a still simmering Smith.

"I'm interested though," Kirkland put in now. "Why _did_ you do it?"

With Smith out of the room Jane visibly relaxed, and treated Kirkland to one of his irresistible smiles. "Their number two disrespected me," he said simply. "If I'd have let it go Ademola probably wouldn't have given me the gig. I could see, by the reactions of the rest of them… that there weren't any loose cannons who would blow off when I threw the knife – he had them all under his control, and _he_ would be intrigued rather than enraged. Yes, it was a risk, but a calculated one."

Kirkland nodded thoughtfully before grinning back at Jane. "Ok, that's the why, now _how_ the hell did you do it.? Smith seems to think it's a gypsy thing…?"

Jane smirked. "Very credulous… Smith." He shrugged. "Carnie circuit. Knife thrower taught me as a thank you for standing in as his 'lovely assistant' after she ran off with the contortionist... _Really…_. I was 14, my hair was kinda long… we made it work…" He looked thoughtful. "It's been a while though – I'm glad I didn't accidentally kill that dude today…"

Fischer, laughing along with Kirkland, was reluctantly impressed. Damned if this guy didn't know _exactly_ what he was doing and damned if she wasn't starting to see beyond his pretty looks and second-class status on the team and actually starting to like him.

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 _*Knife._ Jane is slipping in an occasional Romani word for the sake of his cover. Little bit of Lisbon to kick off next time!


End file.
